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WILLIAM ALLINGHAM

MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited

LONDON ■ BOMBAY • CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO
ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd.

TORONTO

(jL'-ilit'atn . 'illtiicflitini

William Allinerham

A Diary

EDITED BY

H. ALLINGHAM and D. RADFORD

MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON

I 908

ISAAC FOOT '
LIBRARY

First Edition 1907
Reprinted 1908

PREFACE

During the last ten years of his life at our quiet home
in Surrey my Husband began, in the intervals of his
literary work, to writeliTs Autobiography.

I find in one of his note-books this memorandum :
' There are two tenable theories of Life, and conse-
quently of Autobiography :

One : accept a set of conventional rules and abide
by them.

Two — - admit your limitations, attend to what
interests you and try always to be sincere.'

Readers of this book will decide for themselves
which of these lines my Husband followed— both in
his life and in describing it.

Unfortunately, he wrote in detailed narrative only
of the period dealing with his childhood, and some later
portions — such as the accounts of his intercourse with
Carlyle and Tennyson : nothing was left ready for
publication.

I owe much to the late Mrs. Birkbeck Hill for her
competent selection and arrangement of a great part
of the matter for this book at the outset : and my
thanks are due to Mrs. Ernest Radford for her valuable

vl PREFACE

help in the literary work of the editorship, and to
Miss Toulmin Smith for the Index.

The different portions of the Autobiography are
placed in chronological order, with the extracts from
the diaries and note-books — the final selection of these
from the large mass of material has been the subject of
my anxious consideration for many years.

The responsibility of the publication rests with me
alone.

HELEN ALLINGHAM.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

PAGE

I. ]

[824-1846 1

II.

[846-1848

III.

[849-1850

IV. ]

[851-1853

(

continued) 1850-

1863

V. ]

[863

VI. ]

[864

VII.

[865

III

VIII. ]

[866

130

IX.

[867

148

[868

170

XI.

[869-1870

197

XII.

[871-1872

203

XIII.

1873-1874

219

XIV. ]

[875

235

XV.

[876

243

XVI.

[877

• 253

XVII.

1878-1879

262

Vll

Vlll

CHAPTER

CONTENTS

XVIII. 1880 2^5

XIX. 1881-1883 308

XX. 1884 322

XXI. 1885-1886 . . . . . 342

XXII. 1887 351

xxiii. 1888-1889 371

List of Works 39°

Index ..•••••* 393

ILLUSTRATIONS

William Allingham, from an early photograph

Frontispiece

TO FACE PAGE

Cover intended for Day and Night Songs, from a Design in
Colour by D. G. Rossetti ......

William Allingham, from a Photograph taken in 1857

Carlyle, in his Drawing-Room at Cheyne Row, from a Water-
Colour Drawing by H. Allingham (1878-9)

William Allingham, from a Water-Colour Drawing by H
Allingham (about 1880) .....

William Allingham, from a Water-Colour Drawing by H
Allingham (about 1884) . .

Facsimile Letter from William Allingham to Mr. Barnes

Tennyson in his Study at Farringford, from a Water-Colour
Drawing by H. Allingham (1890) . . . .

271
307

323

342

365

CHAPTER I

1 824-1 846

The little old Town where I was born has a Voice of
its own, low, solemn, persistent, humming through the
air day and night, summer and winter. Whenever I
think of that Town I seem to hear the Voice. The
River which makes it, rolls over rocky ledges into the
tide ; before, spreads a great Ocean in sunshine or
storm ; behind, stretches a many-islanded Lake. On the
south runs a wavy line of blue Mountains ; and on the
north, over green or rocky hills, rise peaks of a more
distant range. The trees hide in glens, or cluster near
the river ; gray rocks and boulders lie scattered about
the windy pastures. The sky arches wide over all,
giving room to multitudes of stars by night, and long
processions of clouds blown from the sea ; but also, in
the childish memory where these pictures live, to deeps
of celestial blue in the endless days of summer.

An odd, out-of-the-way little Town, ours, on the
extreme western verge of Europe ; our next neighbours,
sunset way, being citizens of the great New Republic,
which indeed, to our imagination, seemed little if at all
further off than England in the opposite direction.

I was born in a little House, the most westerly of a
row of three, in a street running down to the Harbour.
Opposite was a garden wall, with rose-bushes hanging
over. If I can remember anything of this first house,
which perhaps I cannot, it is the top of the kitchen stairs

2 BALLYSHANNON 1824-1846

at the end of the passage, and the dark unknown abyss
below. My first appearance in this odd sort of world
was in the blustery month of March, two days after the
festival of Ireland's patron saint.

From the House that I was born in we moved to one
somewhat larger, two doors eastward, when I was one
year and four months old, and lived there a little more
than two years. Of this second House I certainly retain
many impressions. A picture of the Sitting Room, with
its darkish carpet of geometric pattern, and its ruddy
fire, its window, door, table, chairs, and sofa, in certain
relative positions, is dimly revivable. The two or three
steps at the front door, and the longer flight leading
down into the kitchen, are indented, as it were, on my
memory. Steps and stairs are very remarkable objects
to most children, I should think, in their earlier stages
in the art of walking. A sense of toil and danger is
connected with them, — and of awe ; they are something
like what Alpine precipices are to grown-up people.

And when this state of mind is gradually overcome,
it blends with the triumphant feeling of power in
mounting and descending these difficult heights, and
penetrating at will new regions in the remotest recesses
of the House.

An early expedition of mine down the kitchen stairs
led me into a piece of ill-luck, the consequences of which,
trivial as it seemed at the time, have woven themselves
into the whole texture of my life, have sensibly lessened
its whole share of pleasure and added to it daily and
almost hourly vexations. I had crept down the back-
stairs to the kitchen, and was pattering across the stone
floor, unnoticed by a woman busily engaged in ' getting
up ' some of the household linen. She snatched a ' flat-
iron ' which had been standing in front of the fire, and,
turning quickly round to carry it to the smoothing
table, encountered Little Me unlucky ! — nor was she
able to check herself soon enough to keep the hot iron
from touching my left eye. General agitation followed,

1824-1846 BALLYSHANNON 3

no doubt. I had to spend some days in a darkened
room, and compared myself (Aunt Bess told me after-
wards) to old Isaac, whose eyes were dim, so that he
could not see.

The effect of this accident on my sight was not dis-
covered for years afterwards ; its effects on my comfort
and character no one knows or even suspects but
myself.

While in this house, I received a small box of water-
colour paints (I have it still) from my god-mother,
Mrs. Jane Dixon. I was seated one day at the parlour
table in my little arm-chair, screwed on to the top of
its table to bring it to a proper height, and with paint-
box, brushes, and cup of water, was dabbing and daub-
ing away on various pieces of paper, to the envy of a
playfellow, who was at the same table, but had only
some bright coloured picture books for his share — a
tame amusement compared to painting one's own
pictures. My mother or nurse hinted that I might
share the use of the paint-box with my companion, but
the sense of property was too strong, and I refused.
When it appeared that the loan would be disagreeable
to me, no more was said : but then I began to turn the
matter over in my mind, and secretly bethought me —
' We shall all have to die in a few years ; it is not worth
while saving up these paints so carefully ' — and I inti-
mated my willingness to lend them. There was no sort
of moral notion in it ; and as to how I first got the
impression of death, I have no clue. It was very likely
by means of ' the dead-bell,' which tolled for funerals,
and whose every slow stroke, in the Church tower on
the hill, used to sound through the sleepy little Town,
and in later years of youth, to smite upon my heart.

It may easily have been among the first things to
awaken a child's curious questionings. The notion of
Death at this earlier time was not associated, as far as I
can recall, with the slightest dread or awe, or feeling of
any kind except that (which is perhaps one of the last

4 BALLYSHANNON 1824-1846

we should suspect in a child of three years old) of the
transitory character of all human possessions.

Later, at the age perhaps of six or seven, I was for a
time fully possessed with the conviction that I should never
die — that I, for one, must in some way or other escape
death. No reasoning led up to this idea, and no effort,
voluntary or involuntary, was made to define the mode
of exemption or the consequences. There was simply a
perception of a fact which had become apparent — as of
a mountain on the horizon on an exceptionally clear
day, new, dim, but undeniable, — the fact that / should
not die ; nor did I take much notice of it, — there it
was ; and when the mental atmosphere gradually
changed, it was invisible again.

In my fourth year (autumn of 1827) our family
changed house again ; father, mother, myself, and a
sister a year and a half younger. The move was only
across the street, but the new abode, known as The
Cottage, had a character of its own. It was an irregu-
larly built house of two stories, with the general
shape of the letter L, standing among gardens and
shrubberies. The front and the south gable were half-
covered with clematis, which embowered the parlour
windows in summer ; and some wall-trained evergreen
fringed the one window of the Nursery with dark
sharply-cut leaves, in company with a yellow blossoming
Pyrus japonica. Opposite the hall door, a good-sized
Walnut Tree growing out of a small grassy knoll
leaned its wrinkled stem towards the house, and
brushed some of the second-story panes with its
broad fragrant leaves. To sit at that little upper-floor
window (it belonged to a lobby) when it was open to
a summer twilight, and the great Tree rustled gently
and sent one leafy spray so far that it even touched my
face, was an enchantment beyond all telling. Killarney,
Switzerland, Venice could not, in later life, come near it.

On three sides the Cottage looked on flowers and
branches, which I count as one of the fortunate chances

1S24-1846 BALLYSHANNON 5

of my childhood, — the sense of natural beauty thus
receiving its due share of nourishment, and of a kind
suitable to those early years. Grandeur of scenery is
lost on a young child ; I doubt if any landscape
impresses him, however impressionable. Little things,
close at hand, make his pleasures and troubles. I was
enchanted with our flower-beds and little shrubberies ;
and in a grass-field to which we were sometimes brought,
a quarter of a mile away, there was a particular charm
in two or three gray rocks encrusted with patches of
moss ; but of the distant view of the Atlantic Ocean I
took no notice at this time.

My Father was fond of flowers and we had a good
show of all the old-fashioned kinds in their seasons. I
loved the violet and lily of the valley, and above all
the rose — all roses, and we had many sorts, damask,
cabbage, ' Scotch,' moss, and white roses in multitude
on a great shady bush that overhung the little street at
our garden-foot. The profusion of these warm-scented
white roses gave a great feeling of summer wealth and
joy, but my constant favourite was the ' Monthly Rose,'
in colour and fragrance the acme of sweetness and
dehcacy combined, and keeping up, even in winter
time, its faithful affectionate companionship.

Before the front door grew my dear Walnut Tree
out of its little mound, beyond which the narrow drive
curved in something of a figure of S to the stable and
byre, its little shrubbery on either side shady enough
with lilacs and laburnums to yield forest haunts to the
childish fancy. Two or three fig-trees there were
also, whose fruit swelled but never ripened ; and their
crooked boughs were chiefly interesting as perches,
from which strange altitudes one could look down on
the household trafiic, horse and foot. Near the north
shrubbery's edge grew tufts of daffodil, and at one
place it was overhung by a tall gable thickly clad with
ancient ivy. This gable did not appertain to us ; its
one little window high up, nearly buried in dark leaves,

6 BALLYSHANNON 18241846

belonged to an Inscrutable and most mysterious interior.
The Great Pyramid could not give me, in later life, so
profound a sense of antiquity and awfulness as this old
hay-barn gave to the little boy.

Our own more familiar outhouses were highly
interesting, each in its own way ; the stable for my
father's one or two horses, where perpetual twilight
reigned and characteristic odours, with its forks and
curry-combs, slope-lidded corn-bin, and trap-door to
the hay-loft above ; next the stable, the harness-room,
and over this an apple-loft, of most memorable fragrancy ;
a little higher up the yard, the byre with its two or
three deliberate -stepping, sweet -breathed cows, and
another loft ; and close by in a corner the little stable,
wood with thatched roof, of Sheltie, the brown-bear-like
pony with long mane and tail, which I rode, and whose
eccentricities gave birth to most exciting personal
adventures. He was fond of standing nearly bolt
upright on his hind legs, when I was fain to hug his
thick mane. He often had views of his own as to
the best road to take, and, suddenly refusing to move
forward, would turn round and round like a wheel,
then abruptly gallop off in the direction of his stable.
One eventful day when I was riding Sheltie about our
home limits one of the gates happened to be open, and
we passed out unobserved into the street where the
pony immediately quickened his pace and, taking the
law into his own hands, carried me out of the town and
along country roads into a wild unknown region. If
I had any alarm or misgiving the joy of novelty over-
came it, yet there was a sense of relief when my self-
willed steed stopped before the field gate of a farm of my
father's about two miles out, which I then recognised,
having visited it in his gig once or twice before. The
pony had been there at grass and recollected his good
times. The cottagers ran out with many exclamations
of wonder at sight of us, and one of them, holding
Sheltie's bridle, brought me home again, full of a

1824-1846 BALLYSHANNON 7

delightful sense of adventure and the importance of
having been missed.

^ My Father had this small farm on lease, and also a
large field near the town, called ' The Big Meadow,' in
which grazing was let to some neighbours' milch cows
along with our own ; but he was not a farmer, and
his agricultural produce went mainly to supply his
own family and my grandmother's, the surplus being
sold.

His business was that of a merchant — a wide
designation, and in his case applicable enough ; he
imported timber, slates, coal and iron, and owned at
various times five or six ships, trading chiefly to Canada
and the Baltic for timber. There were no exports,
save now and again of human beings to Quebec. The
emigration was small then to what it became in after
years, but enough to make ' going to Ameriky ' one of
the most familiar phrases in daily life. My father went
out every morning to his office, which was on the other
side of the street from our house, and seldom returned
till dinner time, half-past four. This and other house-
hold facts I became aware of by their recurrence, but
took little or no note of them. Every child rates
things for himself. Curiosity, mixed with imagination
and the love of beauty, was naturally strong in me ; but
even at this early age, unless I am mistaken, it sought
its food in the interests and characteristics belonging to
nature and life in general ; or rather say that, while
rapidly and vividly receptive of all kinds of novel
impressions, I strove unfailingly and quite unconsciously
to group them according to some principle, refer them
to some ideal — though it must be owned that, in the
first decade of one's earthly career, principles and ideals
are usually of an unsubstantial fantastic sort.

The persons moving around me were as person<e
merely, and in and for themselves individually interested

1 The Allinghams had migrated from England and settled at Bally-
shannon, Co. Donegal, in the time of Elizabeth.

8 BALLYSHANNON 1824-1846

me little or nothing. I intend all through this record
to avoid ' philosophising,' and give recollections and
impressions as simply as may be. What it indicated (if
anything special) I know not to this hour, but in these
first years I do not remember to have felt any emotion
of affection either for my parents or for anybody else.
Caresses (if that is to be taken into account) I never
had any share of from my parents ; they were both
undemonstrative in that way by nature, and my mother's
constant invalidism and my father's hasty temper
kept us children at a distance from both. Yet, cold-
ness was never reckoned one of my faults, and later, say
from twelve years old, my attachments to persons were
warm and constant.

I dimly recollect my mother as thin, pale, delicate,
gentle in voice and movement, with soft dark hair and
an oval face slightly sun-freckled. She was kind, sweet,
and friendly, and a great favourite with all who knew
her ; but her ill-health and early death left us, alas !
to learn these her merits by hearsay and to love her
shadowy memory when the mild presence had vanished
for ever.

She was married in 1823, and bore the following
children : —

William .

. born March 19, 1824.

Catherine

„ March 25, 1826.

John

„ December 12, 1827.

Jane

„ August 25, 1829.

Edward .

. „ August 22, 1 83 1

(who only lived a few months),

and a still-born son on May 27, 1833, at which time
she was already far gone in 'a decline,' due rather to
exhaustion than disease.

She died on Tuesday evening, July 2, 1833. She
was perhaps not made for longevity, but with more
wisdom in its atmosphere her dear and sweet life might
have been preserved for many years.

1824-1846 BALLYSHANNON 9

I only recollect her as an invalid, and we children
were not allowed to be much with her. But now and
again she sung a little to the pianoforte, and two songs
of that time have still for me a charm not their own —
' The Bonnie Breastknots,' and ' It wasn't for you that
I heard the bells ringing.'

From my nurses and others I picked up a large
number of tunes, for I had a decided ' ear for music,'
and Ireland is, or used to be, a country with its air full
of singing, whistling, and lilting. Fiddlers abounded,
pipers were not scarce ; the fame of harpers lingered,
but I never heard the Irish Harp till I went South.

My father (on the passage, in these years, between
thirty and forty) was a short, active, black-haired man,
with very light gray eyes, quick, impatient, curious as
to the externals of objects, and easily amused, but dis-
regardful of whatever did not immediately interest him.
He had a turn for arithmetic, and was exact in the
money part of all dealings ; punctual also as to set
hours, and letter-writing.

In continuation of unbroken family custom, he was
an unswerving adherent of the Established Church ;
but in politics he had left the Radicalism of his early
life for a kind of Toryism, which consisted mainly in
reading a newspaper on that side, and giving a vote
accordingly at the county election.

Honesty, prudence, industry, regularity, conformity,
— few men will break down with these ; and my father
had these, under fashions peculiar to himself. He had,
moreover, though thrifty, a kind of open-handedness,
or dislike and impatience of stint ; and, above all and
best of all, an inherent aversion from every sort of
double-dealing and deception, and a total incapacity to
practise them. This sincerity, which was often naive
and sometimes impolite — he had in common with his
brothers and sisters ; his mother was of the same
nature, and it has descended to her grandchildren. I
feel it is no merit in myself, but an inheritance, a some-

lo BALLYSHANNON 1824-1846

thing like the shape of my limbs, that I have always
an uneasy longing to undeceive people in every case,
trivial or important, whether connected with myself
or others, where the slightest misconception seems to
exist. This tendency (strangely associated with extreme
shyness in admitting any personal intimacy) often runs
into absurdity, and I am sure I have often left people
puzzled by explaining to them more than enough, and
setting them perhaps a'search for supposed motives.
The tendency is native, and will work. This turn of
mind also urges me to point out without delay all the
faults I see in any person or thing, even when my
admiration is very great, and although I am aware of
the certainty of breeding misconceptions thereby.

Both mind and body were exceedingly active, and I
was irresistibly drawn to pry into and examine all kinds
of objects and places, climb up ladders, walls, gates, trees,
sometimes no doubt committing breakage or causing
alarm. But there was not the least tinge of malice in
my nature, or capability of being pleased by the
destruction of anything or the annoyance of anybody,
and a wise and sympathetic senior could without special
effort have done wonders for my education and happi-
ness. I used often to wonder how it could have
happened that I was so much wickeder than everybody
else. I should have suffered much more hurt and
harm by it but for certain compensations. My great
curiosity and interest in outward things, and delight in
their beauty and novelty, along with much activity of
imagination, or rather fantasy, tended to save me ; and
at my Grandmother's house — but a little way off, and
to which I went as often as I could — I found something
of that atmosphere of affection and confidence which is
so suitable to the free growth of any tender young
soul.

My Grandmother (my father's mother, Jane Hamil-
ton her maiden name) managed to live by a very few
simple rules (without even knowing these, as rules).

1824-1846 BALLYSHANNON 1 1

and managed to do it as well or better than most people.
She cared about her own household, first and last ;
maintained regular hours and a good larder ; was kind
to her servants, but kept them in their place ; petted
her grandchildren, and took a great deal of snufF, She
had a family Bible, with the births of her numerous sons
and daughters — eighteen in all, I think, but many of
these died in childhood — recorded in old-fashioned
writing on the fly-leaves, and a thick old cookery-book
bound in black leather ; and these I believe were all
her books. But she used to sit in the winter evenings,
with her cat on her knee, knitting stockings and
listening with apparent pleasure to Aunt Maryanne
reading the Waverley Novels, and would sometimes
make a remark on an extraordinary incident or character
— generally on some piece of villainy, and to this effect,
' They ought to have hanged him ! ' From this it may
be guessed that the modern scruples about capital
punishment had never intruded on her mind ; and
indeed, as far as I can recollect, she was in doubt about
nothing : if it was an old thing it had its label attached,
if a novelty she kept it at arm's length. Even the
rotation of our planet upon its axis (though not exactly
a new opinion) she never believed in. The bare notion
of such a turning and twirling would have been enough
to make her head light.

I now know that my Grandmother's was a small
house, but if I were to describe it from the impressions
of those years it would be spacious and many-roomed,
with a long, dim, lofty Entrance Hall, wide enough to
be the scene of many fancied adventures. The stairs
at its end mounted to a landing with flower-stands and
a window, and thence to a Drawing-room with what I
thought a large window to the street, a little room off
this, and two bedrooms looking to the back. Another
flight climbed to an upper lobby and the garrets. At
the end of the hall, between the foot of the staircase and
the kitchen door, was a door, generally locked, whence

12 BALLYSHANNON 1824-1846

a few descending stairs led to a curious back-room
with hen-coops, a smell of live animals, an ancient wooden
partition, and a window dim with old crusted dirt ;
and from this a dark flight of stone steps descended to
a truly mysterious and almost awful region, a dim back-
kitchen paved with rude flags, with a well of living
water of unknown depth in a recess of the wall.

Into the Hall (where an old fashioned lamp of
elongated shape, which I never saw lighted, hung from
the ceiling) opened the door of the Parlour, next the
street, and my Grandmother's bedroom to the back of
the house, both on the left hand as you came in ; and
on the right, close to the head of the back-stairs, the
Kitchen door. Another door on the right, belonging
to a Store-room usually entered from the Kitchen, I
never saw opened but twice or thrice, each opening an
event and a revelation ; a press stood against it on the
inner side, and a green hall-chair on the outer. Near
the hall-door lay an oval mat, and at the stair-foot
another, made of ' bent,' a coarse grass that grows on
the sandhills by the sea ; these mats being finger-woven
and carried round for sale by barefooted women and
girls, one or more of whom called nearly every day to
ask, ' D'ye want any mats ? '

The Kitchen was floored with square red tiles. Its
one tall window, with thick window sashes, beside
which was the washing-tub on its stand, looked out on
a little back-yard. Opposite the door stood a long
' dresser ' with its rows of plates 'and dishes, tin
porringers and strainers ; and under this, in the corner
next the window, was the place of a large tub of fresh
water which, with its clear olive depth and round
wooden dipper swimming like a boat on its tremulous
surface, used to give me great delight, judging (as I do
in this and similar cases) by my distinct impressions of
the forms and colours.

From my own experience I judge that a child's
little camera obscura, however sensitive to the picturesque,

1824-1846 BALLYSHANNON 13

cannot include it on a large scale. There were moun-
tains in daily sight, where I lived, and a large cataract
in the river close by ; I must also have seen the ocean
sometimes, which was but three miles distant, yet it
was none of these that impressed me with a sense of
beauty and mystery, but the water-tub and the well,
flowers and leaves, and, very particularly, a heap of
gray rocks, touched with moss and in one part laced
with briars, in a certain green field to which the nurse
used often to bring us.

No doubt I was a troublesome youngster, super-
abundantly active, and there were two things which
probably helped to make me unacceptable. I was a
peculiar-looking, and, no doubt in the opinion of many,
an ugly little chap, with an odd cast in his gray eyes ;
secondly, I was never done asking questions, and hardly
ever satisfied with the answers I received. I could
read fluently at a very early age, and I remember
nothing of being taught. But I do remember, before I
could read, learning a sentence in the Bible Story Book by
heart, and then making a pretence of reading it — out
of vain-glory. The little woodcuts in that book — a
duodecimo in two volumes — impressed me more than
any pictures I have seen since. A wide lonely land-
scape of hills and water, with the sun looking down
upon them, heading the chapter called ' The Last Day,'
remains, in its effect on my mind, the grandest of all
works of art. It was a woodcut about an inch long,
and no doubt entirely commonplace in itself. I wonder
whether something intrinsically great would have
impressed me more. Probably not.

With my sisters I was always on good terms, but I
cannot remember that they ever seemed to count much
then in my life. Places had more reality than persons.
My mind was busy with imaginations which gave
mysterious importance to every nook of house and
garden ; and when I began to catch glimpses of things
in a wider range, and to overhear hints of a more

14 BALLYSHANNON 1824-1846

wonderful world outside of this, magic pictures formed
themselves within me of such heavenly beauty as no
experience has matched. These had a consistency of
their own, and recurred till they left impressions that
resembled real memories, and have, 1 doubt not, made
and do still make a large part of the scenery of my
Dreams. Beautiful Dreams (I mean in sleep) have
been no trivial part of the pleasures of my life. Certain
Dreams show up again and again, like the opening of a
familiar page. Sometimes there is an interval of years
between two appearances of the same Dream. There
are several Dreams, each distinct, of Lakes, of Rivers,
of Mountains, of Woodlands, of Cities, of Great Build-
ings, of Strange Countries ; a Dream of a Cave, and a
Dream of a Gothic Ruin, a Dream of Flying, a Dream
of Death, and many more. Dreamland has its own
geography, of places wherein all strange adventures and
experiences are possible.

My brother John and I had not much in common ;
but one Sunday evening, I remember (this must have
been in our second lustrum, perhaps well on in it), we
were on the stairs of the Church gallery — a big boy
quarrelled with me and suddenly made as though he
would throw me over the railing. I was rescued
quickly, but during the momentary struggle I saw
John's face, who was some steps higher up, looking
down with an expression of alarm and horror which 1
never afterwards forgot, and which gave me a new
feeling towards him from that day. He never knew
this ; of such slight incidents and lasting effects life
is full.

The said Church (of the United English and Irish
Establishment) was an important object in my childish
life. To me it was a spacious and awe-inspiring Edifice,
with windows of peculiar shape, and a square Tower
which was the measure of height, — ' as high as the
church steeple.' The broad path curved up to it from
a tall old iron gate, through grassy hillocks and ancient

1824-1846 BALLYSHANNON 15

tombstones, some of them quaintly carved. The
Church stood on the highest ground, and commanded a
wide prospect, from its tower-top a panoramic one.
Eastward you saw the river rushing down its rocky dell,
and behind this some of the hill tops that guard the
unseen great Lake out of which it flows. To the south,
at a distance of some ten miles, a long range of blue
Mountains takes wonderful colours from the changing
skies, and in their foldings run up shadowy valleys into
a mystical inner region. Between this range and the
little gray Town with its long stone bridge, at your feet,
spreads the Moy [math = ph'in) — scene of many an
ancient fight and foray, an expanse, sloping to the
north, of rugged pasture, broken here and there with a
rocky copse or farm-shading grove, and many low green
rath-crowned hills. So one's gaze travelling round to
the west, and over the sand-hills and foamy harbour-
bar, gladly rests on the great line of the Atlantic Ocean,
the nearest land out yonder being two thousand miles
away. For north horn of the Bay rises the great
rocky precipice called Slieve League, and round to
the north and along the northen horizon peer up other
blue mountain-peaks above a middle distance of gorsy
slopes and wind-swept sheep-runs, sprinkled with gray
rocks and boulders, and hinting to a familiar eye the
green circle of a Rath on many a low hill. Mullina-
shee (Fairy Hill) this eminence is called on which
the Church stands ; and not only from it but many
another height extensive prospects are visible, with
a wide sky overhead, and a pomp and change of cloud-
pictures such as I have never seen elsewhere.

Even the streets of the Town afford many a glimpse
of green fields, blue mountains, or flowing waters.

The Town and its horizon-circle belonged to each
other (in my imagination at least) and gave me a sense
of large space and infinite variety, very diff'erent no
doubt from the image of Ballyshannon in the mind
of some passing traveller who sees the poor dull little

1 6 BALLYSHANNON 1824-1846

place, perhaps on one of those by no means unfrequent
wet days, and wonders how any human being can
wilHngly live there. But neither was I alone in my
feeling. The people of Ballyshannon had, and I hope
have, their full share of that warm attachment to
famihar localities which is notable in the Irish.

' When a stranger Stan's on the Bridge and luks up
an' down, mustn't he be delighted ! ' said a native to me ;
and I never heard of any one going to live elsewhere
who failed to ' think long for the ould place,' and, for
a time at least, cherish the hope of returning.

Travelling at the time I am speaking of was a rare
adventure to poor and even to middle-class people.
The journey to Dublin was long and costly, and
England a strange country which few even dreamt of
seeing, except two or three shopkeepers who went once
a year to Manchester and Leeds to buy goods, and the
* harvest-men,' who brought back home their wages,
against the winter, and who like their neighbours
invariably thought and spoke of ' the Enghsh 'as of a
foreign people, though never, that I heard, uncivilly, un-
less when some disputation arose. ' Ameriky,' far off as
it was, was a more familiar name and idea ; nearly all
the letters received and dispatched by the poorer people
were from or to that land of promise. The passage-
money was but a few pounds, very often sent over by
those already in the West, and the emigrants could in
many cases embark in their own familiar harbour. I
never heard any one express the least fear of the dangers
and hardships of the long voyage in an often tightly-
packed and ill-found sailing-ship ; but great was the
grief at leaving home and ' the ould counthry,' and
vehemently, though not affectedly, demonstrative were
the frequent parting scenes.

It has always been supposed that some countries
have, so to speak, a peculiar magnetic attraction for the
souls of their children, and I found plenty of reason. In
the conduct of my neighbours as well as my own con-

1824-1846 BALLYSHANNON 17

sciousness, to count Ireland as one of these well-beloved
mother-lands. This home-love is strongest in the
dwellers in her wild and barren places, rock-strewn
mountain glens and windy sea-shores, notwithstanding
the chronic poverty in which so many of them live. In
these remote and wild parts Erin is the most character-
istically herself, and the most unlike to Saxon England.
Her strange antiquities, visible in gray mouldering
fragments ; her ancient language, still spoken by some,
and everywhere present in place-names, as well as phrases
and turns of speech ; her native genius for music ; her
character — reckless, variable, pertinacious, enthusiastic ;
her manners — reconciling delicate respect with easy
familiarity ; her mental movements — quick, humorous,
imaginative, impassioned ; her habits of thought as to
property, social intercourse, happiness ; her religious
awe and reverence ; all these, surviving to the present
day, under whatever difficulties, have come down from
times long before any England existed, and cling to
their refuge on the extreme verge of the Old World,
among lonely green hills, purple mountains, and rocky
bays, bemurmured day and night by the Western Ocean.

I never came back to the Ballyshannon country after
an absence, without thinking that it looked to be the
oldest place I ever saw.

This impression was aided by the character of its
superabundant surface rocks — gray gneiss, gray mica-
schist masked with yellow lichens, dark gray limestone,
weather-stained, or knobbly with mysterious fossils ;
and the fields too are commonly intersected with rude
fences of loose gray stones picked from the soil. But
hints and tastes of a richer scenery were not wanting,
and all the more prized for their rareness. Productive
gardens and orchards there were about the Town, plenty
of flowers and fruit, few trees of any size (mostly
sycamores and ashes), but here and there a little grove
shaded the lawn and avenue of a modest country house,
and a mile or two up the rapid River thick copses

1 8 BALLYSHANNON 1824-1846

mingled with large trees embowered the water-side.
A small well-wooded park in that region, called Camlin,
seemed to me the very type of rich sylvan beauty, and
my imagination no doubt soon caught rumours and
formed pictures better than could ever be realised of
the great Lake beyond, with its forested promontories
and ' an island for every day in the year,' In the
opposite quarter, that is on the west, our landscape
reached the extreme of bareness, rough rocky pastures,
miles of rabbit-warren and sea-strand, sward of Atlantic
headlands shaven by the salt gale as by a scythe, with
here and there a hawthorn bush or still rarer hedge,
stretching wildly away to the eastward as though fain
to flee altogether, almost the only arboreal things to be
found far or near. The wild shore and boundless tossing
sea, ebb and flow of the tide, ships, fishermen, wrecks,
new lands beyond the sunset, these helped no little to
feed and stimulate the childish imagination.

But of all the external things among which I found
myself, nothing impressed me so peculiarly as the Sound,
the Voice, which ceased not day or night ; the hum of
the Waterfall, rolling continually over its rock ledge
into the deep salt pool beneath. In some moods it
sounded like ever-flowing Time itself made audible.

The pool below the cataract was one of the chief
scenes of the salmon-flshing, so important to the town,
and summer idlers had an untiring pleasure in lounging
on the high green bank to watch the boats swiftly casting
out and slowly hauling in their nets. Angling on the
upper waters brought us every year, from April or May
till August, a succession of visitors, often English, and
we were further and more permanently enlivened by
the presence of troops, Ballyshannon being an important
military post, the gate between Connaught and Ulster.
At the beginning of the century it had Infantry, Cavalry,
and Artillery Barracks, fully occupied, I think, up to
181 5. The Cavalry Barrack had been allowed to fall
into ruin, and its black grass-grown walls had a strange

1824-1846 BALLYSHANNON 19

and fascinating horror for the boyish mind ; but the
Infantry Barrack was always more or less occupied, and
the marching of the red-coats (especially to and from
church), the playing of the bands, and the various bugle-
calls at their regular times of the day, made a great
impression. The Officers too were an interesting and
frequently varying element in society. Officers arriv-
ing were sometimes billeted on private houses, and I
remember the presence of mysterious military guests in
our house more than once, on these terms. These, no
doubt, were occasions of emergency, when it was suddenly
found expedient to strengthen the garrison on rumour
of an intended ' rising,' or in consequence of some
unusual display of lawlessness. I came early to the
consciousness that I was living in a discontented and
disloyal country ; it seemed the natural state of things
that the humbler class — which was almost synonymous
with Roman Catholic, should hate those above them in
the world, and lie in wait for a chance of despoiling
them. Yet I never for a moment believed this of any
of the individuals of this class amongst whom I lived.
I used to fancy and sometimes dream frightfully of a
swarm of fierce men seizing the town, bursting into the
houses, etc. ; of soldiers drawn out in rank with levelled
guns, of firing, bloodshed, and all horror.

Once there was something like an approach to
realisation. It must have been at a time when our
garrison was temporarily withdrawn or reduced to a
detachment, that a rude army of ' Whiteboys ' actually
marched through the town, armed with scythes, pikes,
and I know not what. I was turned six years old then.
I remember being at the corner of our lane, holding
somebody's hand or lifted in somebody's arms, and
have a most dim yet authentic memory-picture of a
dark wild procession of men, crowded closely together,
holding and brandishing things over their heads. It
streamed past us up the long hill of the Main Street,
and I daresay I was taken home before it had passed

20 BALLYSHANNON 1824-1846

by, for in the dim picture it is always seen passing on
and up interminably, a dark throng with pikes and
scythes held aloft. I looked with curiosity unmixed
with dread ; but it was probably after this that the
dread showed itself in dramatic forms in my dreams.
I have been told that my Aunt Bess on this day was
walking through the Purt (a long straggling street on
the south side of the river) when she met the mad
looking multitude with their pikes, etc. Some one said,
' That is Miss Allingham going to visit the poor,' and
they opened a way for her to pass through.

No outrage at all, I believe, was done by the
'Whiteboys,' or whatever they were ; and in fact I
have never, since I was born, known or heard of any
political or secret society offence in our Town or its
district. Ballyshannon was a sort of island of peace in
my day, as it had been for generations, and I hope is
carrying on the good tradition. We were far from
centres of excitement and agitation ; Dublin remote,
the nearest considerable towns some twenty-five and
thirty miles distant, and the scene of our county elections
to Parliament (very seldom contested) still further
away. We were a Borough (with two members) in
old College Green days, but had luckily lost that
privilege, which is a real curse to a small town. News-
papers were unknown to the humbler, and rare with
the middle classes. All the country gentry and nearly
all the well-to-do people were Protestants, having
the ascendency naturally belonging to money and
education, and their connection with a State-privileged
Church was, I imagine, less noticeable ; that is, there
was little if any political feeling on this head, though
plenty of theological aversion and contempt on both
sides ; and in any sort of public dispute or collision,
Catholics and Protestants (Orangemen, mostly of the
small farmer class, were those who were apt to show
up on such occasions) ranged themselves as by instinct,
or chemical affinity, on opposite sides.

1824-1846 BALLYSHANNON 21

Along with other helps to a comparatively tranquil
existence, Ballyshannon had a most peace-loving and
peace-making Parish Priest in Father John Cummins,
whose big figure wrapt in voluminous coats, big stick,
good-humoured big face crowned with reddish bob-
wig and wide-brimmed hat, was one of the permanent
institutions of our social existence throughout my
boyhood and youth-hood, whatever curates might come
and go. My father had no difficulty in exchanging
many a neighbourly greeting and chat with Father
Cummins, whose burly person standing on such occasions
with legs apart, whose good-humoured brogue and
hearty laugh that shook him all over, — 'Upon me
conshince, Misther Alligham ! ' — I well remember. He
told one day with a big laugh how grateful another
Protestant neighbour was on getting back some stolen
goods by virtue of the Confessional, saying earnestly —
' I protest, Mr. Cummins, this restitution of property
is a gr-rand fayture in your religion ! ' and my Father
too was sometimes advantaged by the same means.
Father Cummins was nothing of a theologian, but he
was duly proud of his great ancient Church, and used
sometimes to ask an opponent with dignity the well-
known question — ' Where was your Church before
Luther.? Tell me that, sir!' He lived in a neat
thatched cottage at the top of the town, with an elderly
housekeeper, and a boy who drove him to distant parts
of the parish in an old-fashioned jaunting-car, the
pony, fat and sleek as a mole, being seldom allowed
to go at faster pace than a quick walk. The good
priest's great dread was of taking cold. He believed
in fast-shut doors and windows, huge fires, heaps of
bedclothes, and nobody but his housekeeper ever knew
how manv coats, waistcoats, and other integuments
he was accustomed to wear. In diet I believe he was
moderate, and he lived to old age without ever making
an enemy. His successor, a tallish, dark, lean, shy
man, was no less peaceable in life and teaching.

22 BALLYSHANNON 1824-1846

' The Rector,' as he was always called, but properly
the Vicar of Kilbarron, at the time when I appeared
upon the scene in a very small part, was the Reverend
Robert Packenham, brother to the wealthy lay rector,
who took the name of Conolly for his aunt's property
and was the chief landowner in our parts and long
M.P. for the county.

I was probably about four years old when they
began to take me to church on Sundays. The edifice
appeared to me spacious, lofty, and venerable. It was
cruciform, with round-topped windows, the ground floor
filled with high pews. There were three galleries, —
' the Singing Gallery ' over the west door ; ' the Soldiers'
Gallery ' in the north transept ; ' the Country Gallery '
in the south transept, used mostly by small farmers and
their families. The townsfolk and the country gentry
had pews in the body of the church ; some very poor
people sat on benches in the aisle, and, at the other end of
the scale, two families had notably large and comfortable
pews, the Conollys in the right-hand corner as you came
in by the west door, the Tredennicks ^ of Camlin in the
left. The Tredennick pew was a place of mystic and
luxurious seclusion to my fancy, a sort of imperium in
imperio. Its woodwork completely partitioned it off from
the aisle, but chance peeps showed a snugly cushioned and
carpeted interior, and even a special little fireplace with
its special little bright fire on winter Sundays. In later
days I knew a high lady who deemed it proper to go
regularly to church once a week, but evaded part of
the tedium by taking with her a novel or other amusing
book, decently veiled in a dark cover. With such a
pew as this she could have made herself very comfort-
able ; but if anything of the kind occurred there (which
probably never did) I had no suspicions of it.

Essentially, neither service nor sermon had the very
slightest interest or meaning for me, but the sense of a
solemn stringency of rule and order was deeply im-

1 The Tredennicks, originally of a Cornish family.

1824-1846 BALLYSHANNON 23

pressed, and the smallest infraction, it was felt, might
have unimaginable consequences. A child's prayer-
book falling from the gallery astounded like an earth-
quake ; and once, I remember, when the congregation
suddenly started up in the midst of the service, pew
doors were thrown open, and people ran out into the
aisles (a lady had fainted) — it was really as if the Day
of Judgment had come. Connected with Church and
churchyard was a thought, vague, vast, unutterably
awful, of that Last Day, with Eternity behind it : yet
it was definitely localised too, and it seemed that not
only the Rising but the Judging of our particular dead
must be in our own Churchyard.

A terrible thought of Eternity sometimes came,
weighing upon me like a nightmare, — on and on and
on, always beginning and never ending, never ending
at all, for ever and ever and ever, — till the mind,
fatigued, fell into a doze as it were and forgot. I
suppose this was connected, though not definitely, with
the idea of a state of punishment. The suggestion of
eternal happiness took no hold upon my imagination ;
my earliest thought of Heaven pictured it as a Sunday
street in summer, with door-steps swept and the shutters
of the shops closed. Later, there was a vague flavour
of Church and psalmody.

Our Pew, painted like the rest a yellowish colour
supposed to imitate oak, was half-way up the Church,
on the right-hand side of the central aisle, and had the
distinction of a tall flat Monument of wood (or it
seemed tall), painted black in George the Second taste,
rising on the wall behind it. Atop was a black urn
with faded gold festoons ; at each side a pilaster with
faded gold flutings ; and there was a long inscription
in faded gold letters.

It seems to me very curious that, after sitting so
many an hour, so many a year, in that Pew, and
recollecting numberless little things around me there,
I cannot find in my memory one word of that

24 BALLYSHANNON 1824-1846

inscription, except 'Sacred' in a line by itself at the
top, in Old English letters — not even the chief name,
which was a lady's, (a remote and very slightly
interesting relation or connection of ours, she must
have been) nor the import of those Roman symbols
which so ingeniously disguise a date to modern eyes.
The wording no doubt was highly conventional, as
nearly as possible meaningless, and felt by the child to
be a sort of dull puzzle which after some attempts it
was better to avoid. Had it been verse^ of even
moderate quality, it would have fixed itself in my
memory ; with point, it would have stuck there for
ever.

My usual place in the pew (habitude, or customari-
ness, or whatever it may be called, being naturally
strong in me) was the left-hand corner next the door,
as you went in. Standing on the seat, I could look up
and down the aisle, and sometimes rest my arms and
head on a little triangular shelf that fitted into the
corner. When I had, against the grain, to sit down,
I kept looking at the faces of the people near to me
in the Pew, and the countenance of a certain half-pay
Army Lieutenant, ruddy, swarthy, with a longish nose
somewhat bulbous at the end, holds a very dispropor-
tionate place in my memory, because he generally sat
in full view. The tedium of the service was also
mitigated by the interest which I acquired in watching
for the regular recurrence of its various stages, with
the attitudes — of sitting, standing, or kneeling —
appropriate to each. Certain phrases were greeted as
milestones upon the journey ; and at the end of the
sermon (usually the most trying part of all, and of
indefinite length) the words, ' Now to God the Father,'
etc., caused an unfailing gush of inner satisfaction.
There was something curious and amusing in the
Litany with its responses, but it was mostly meaningless
to me, as indeed was the Service as a whole (both at
this time and later in life). The mystic phraseology

1824-1846 BALLYSHANNON 25

had of course its effect, as any other such would have
had, and the regular recurrence and solemn repetition
of the performance. The gathering together, too, of
neighbours, rich and poor, old and young, as in the
presence of the Universal Father and Ruler, has an
impressiveness different from anything else in daily life.
If it could indeed be done simply and purely ' in spirit
and in truth ' ! But here, in our small community, a
section only of the neighbours drew together at the
set solemn seasons ; another section, though animated
by the same motives, drew together in different place
and manner, drew apart from the former gathering,
many of whom came from the same households ; and
in the very act of worship both sections displayed and
emphasised feelings of mutual suspicion, contempt and
animosity.

Once or twice I was taken clandestinely to mass by
a nurse, on some Saint's Day most likely, and stood or
sat for a while just inside the Chapel door. It felt
like a strange adventure, with some flavour of horror,
but more of repulsiveness, from the poverty of the
congregation and the intonation of the priests. I
remember arguing with my nurse Kitty Murray, (who
only died this year, 1883, at the supposed age of
ninety-three — but I don't think it was she who took
me to the chapel), for the superiority of Protestantism
because * the Catholics, you see, are poor people ' ; to
which Kitty replied, ' It may be different in the next
world.' A good answer, I felt, and attempted no
retort ; being indeed at no time of my life addicted to
argue for argument's sake, or for triumph.

Although very brisk in body and mind, my health
from the first was considered delicate. I was thin and
pale, and for several years — between my fifth and
eighth, perhaps — there was a swallowing of nauseous
doses to be gone through several times a day. But
this was nothing to the Surgeon's frequent visits with
his horrible lancet, in consequence of a swelling on

26 BALLYSHANNON 1824-1846

the middle finger of the right hand (which remains
contracted), and even in memory the bitter pain of the
repeated cuttings makes me wince. My Aunt Bess
used to ' dress it,' a disagreeable operation for both of
us. She was the Maiden Aunt of the family, at this
time between forty and fifty, very charitable and
helpful from an unwavering sense of duty, and inflexibly
' low-church ' in her religious opinions and practices.
She did her duty by me, as by everybody, with
firmness, regularity, and a general good sense; what was
missing in her ministrations was that soothing personal
atmosphere of love and sympathy which does everybody
good without eifort, and especially children. This
blessing I should doubtless have enjoyed from my dear
Mother, had her short married life been more fortunate.
At my grandmother's, besides my Aunt Bess, lived two
younger Aunts, Maryanne and Everina. Aunt Everina
glides through my memory little more than a mild
pale shadow, straight and slender, and low-voiced. She
had by nature a pictorial gift, and painted in water-
colour, — flowers, landscapes, portraits of friends and
neighbours — as well as one might be expected to do
who had no training and never saw any examples of
good work. Aunt Everina's health was delicate, and
she was perhaps about twenty-eight years old when
she died.

Aunt Maryanne, the youngest, or voungest but one,
of my Grandmother's large family was, both in person
and temper, short and brisk with nez retrousse and
lively gray eyes. She was quick and excitable, spoke
fast, and a troublesome child would pretty soon feel
her hands as well as her tongue. She was a Poetess,
and wrote much on local and family subjects, but her
simple ambition never even dreamed of actual print,
and contented itself with sheets of note-paper, and little
stitched books, neatly written out in something like
printing letters, and given away to her friends. I have
in my desk a ballad of hers on my father's approach-

1824-1846 BALLYSHANNON 27

ing wedding — ' Will's to be married to Maggie,' etc. —
O Time !

Aunt Maryanne was a voracious novel-reader. The
winter evenings come clearly before me ; my Grand-
mother in her arm-chair by the fire, with close cap,
knitting incessantly, her snuff-box on a little table, an
old cat called ' Norway ' snoozing on the hearthrug
and sometimes jumping into her lap ; Aunt Bess also
knitting, grave and silent ; Aunt Maryanne reading
aloud a Waverley Novel. I used to sit with paper and
pencil, ' drawing ' and also listening to the story. At
any thrilling crisis ejaculations of interest or excitement
were heard, and the end of a chapter often gave rise to
comments, always on the incidents and characters, just
as though they were real, never on the literary merits
of the work or the abilities of the author. Criticism
of the latter kind was all but unknown in our circle,
and surely its estate was the more gracious.

When I acquired, no one knew how, the art of
reading rapidly, and at once applied it to every readable
thing that came my way, I used sometim.es to find my
Aunt's novel in the daytime and take a run into the
story in advance of the evening reading. On one or per-
haps two occasions when I afterwards sat listening, I was
unable to resist the temptation to give a hint of what
was coming, whereupon Aunt Maryanne, starting up
from her chair, clutched me firmly with both hands and
bundled me out of the room — a very justifiable assault.
Scott of course furnished the staple of the winter
evenings' entertainment ; but some minor story-tellers
contributed to the amusement. I remember Gait's
Laurie Todd, and Horace Smith's Brambletye House,
with the catchword, ' Think of that, young man ! '

I think the Waverley Novels that most impressed
me in those earty' days were Guy Mannering, The
Antiquary, Ivanhoe, Kenilworth, The Talisman, but
there were scenes in Waverley, The Fortunes of Nigel,
Quentin Durward, The Fair Maid of Perth, The

2 8 BALLYSHANNON 1824-1846

Pirate^ The Monastery^ vivid as any real experience.
In Poetry Scott again was first favourite, and the verse-
novels of The Lady of the Lake and Marmion}

[Here William Allingham's account of his childhood
ends.

The following reminiscences of his schooldays are
given from two letters, the first written by his brother
John in 1904, the second by an old schoolfellow, Mr.
Robert Crawford, the Engineer : — ]

' I can recall Willy since the thirties of last century, i.e.
since he was seven or eight years old. In 1837 or 1838 he and
I occupied the same bedroom in the old Bank House on the
Mall. It had one window loolcing west — a gable window —
and off the room was a closet containing a number of books
and pamphlets in the Norwegian and English languages. I
remember the great storm of January 1839, and the window
of our room being blown in, notwithstanding a feather bed
being placed against it. Willy, I think, used sometimes to
walk in his sleep at that time. He was very agile and expert
at all juvenile games. He was then attending Wray's School
in Church Lane, then the only school in Ballyshannon —
indifferently attended by Catholics and Protestants. Wray
taught Latin — nothing else. Willy left this school in the
Spring of 1837 to go to a boarding-school at Killeshandra,
Co. Cavan, kept by one Robert Allen, a commonplace person
of the cocksure evangelical type. After a short time there
my father got him into the Provincial Bank at Ballyshannon
(of which he was Manager). This was in 1838, when Willy
was fourteen years old : in December 1839 he was moved to
the Armagh branch of the Bank — and later to the Strabane
and Enniskillen branches in succession.'

' He was a particularly bright and clever boy, and conquered
the most difficult lessons with a facility that made him an
object of envy to his less brilliant comrades. He devoted just
sufficient time to his prescribed lessons to enable him to hold

^ Some passages from this account of Allingham's childhood were
published, with Mrs. Allingham's permission, by Dr. George Birkbeck
Hill in his Introduction to Letters of Dante Gabriel Rossetti to William
Allingham, 1854-70.

1824-1846 BALLYSHANNON 29

his own with class-work, while he diligently pursued investiga-
tions on his own account in a far wider field of learning. As
a result he frequently caused surprise to his seniors, by the
fixed opinions he held upon many subjects usually supposed to
be suited only to the comprehension of intellects of maturity,
and by the clear manner in which he expressed his convictions
concerning them. He was a great lover of Nature in all her
phases, and particularly humane towards dumb animals, of
which, however, so far as I know, he never made pets. Sports
he abstained from, on principle, considering them cruel.'

[Allingham's recollections of boarding-school were
by no means happy.

He was still delicate in health, and an accident at
this time to his sore finger produced severe inflammation
of the arm, and necessitated surgical treatment. He
was at Killeshandra for a year only ; at the age of
fourteen his school education was brought abruptly to
an end.

His father, now married again, had been out of
health for some time, and told by a doctor that he
could not live very much longer : he determined,
therefore, to put William, at once, in the way of earn-
ing his own living, and found him a place in the Bank
at Ballyshannon.

Here the lad began a seven years' service to his
uncongenial work. The sudden end to the possibility
of all further organised study and education was, to
him, a deep disappointment and lasting regret.

In December 1839 he was moved to the Armagh
branch of the Bank, and here he was, at first, often very
lonely and homesick.

From Strabane Allingham wrote on May 11, 1841,
asking his father to send him '• Elia^ first series, and
Shelley poems. I shall return Elia second part and
Lamb's Tales. Johnson's Poets are very welcome and a
great treat.'

In the summer of 1843, at the age of nineteen, he
paid his first visit to London.

30 BALLYSHANNON 1824-1846

The following was written to his father at this time.]

Norfolk Hotel, Surrey St.,
Strand, July 22, 1843.

My dear Father — Here I am in a very quiet place, within
twenty yards of the busiest street in London.

I slept in Oxford, the night before last, and saw most of
the city, the Bodleian Library, etc. I have seen no place equal
to it, to please my taste. Old churches, colleges and halls at
every step, and plenty of old houses with gables to the street
and latticed windows.

I can find my way here capitally. I walked this morning,
before breakfast, to St. Paul's, round by Newgate St., Holborn,
and Drury Lane. A matter of between two and three miles,
I should think.

I write to let you know where I am. Of my journey I
will tell you no more at present, except the following facts,
which I thought rather droll —

1st, then, — at Stafford, in the neighbourhood of the great
potteries, we had a horn vessel to drink from.

2ndly, at Birmingham (the World's Toyshop) a large
shop had no ' Chinese Tumblers.'

3rdly, at the Angel Hotel, Oxford, the bedroom was sup-
plied with a Cambridge Bible — and lastly, the first tune I heard
in London was the 'Sprig of Shillelagh.' — Yours, my dear
father, truly, W. Allingham, Junior.

[After seven years in the Bank, Allingham obtained,
at the age of twenty-two, a post in the Customs. An
account of this is given, as follows, in the few remaining
pages of this first part of his autobiography.]

CHAPTER II

1 846-1 848

Heartsick of more than seven years of bank-clerking,
I found a door suddenly opened, not into an ideal
region or anything like one, but at least into a roadway
of life somewhat less narrow and tedious than that in
which I was plodding. My father was offered a place
in the Customs for my brother ; John was too young
for the post ; it could not be kept vacant and was
offered to me. In the spring or summer of 1846 I
gladly took leave for ever of discount ledgers and
current accounts, and went to Belfast for two months'
instruction in the duties of Principal Coast Officer of
Customs, a tolerably well-sounding title, but which
carried with it a salary of but £So ^ year. I put up at
a Temperance Hotel in Waring Street, slept soundly
(O Youth !) in a small front room in that narrow noisy
thoroughfare, trudged daily about the docks and
timber yards learning to measure logs, piles of planks,
and, more troublesome, ships for tonnage : indoors
part of time practised Customs book-keeping, and talked
to the clerks about literature and poetry in a way that
excited some astonishment, but, on the whole, as I found
at parting, a certain degree of curiosity and respect.

I preached Tennyson to them, hitherto an unknown
name, and recited bits from Locksley Hal/, meeting at
first a cold reception, but afterwards better acknowledg-
ment. One of the head- clerks came up to me one

32 BELFAST 1846

morning with the greeting, ' Well, I've read Locksley
Hall^ and it's a very fine poem ! '

I don't recollect being at a theatre in Belfast. I went
a few times to a music hall, but my spare time was
mostly spent in reading and haunting book-sellers'
shops, where I venture to say I laid out a good deal
more than most people in proportion to my income,
and managed to catch glimpses of many books which I
could not afford or did not care to buy. From Belfast
I repaired to the little town of Donegal, and entered on
my office of Principal Coast Officer of the district, a
very large one extending over many miles of coast, the
greater part of it wild and rocky and lying exposed to
the full violence of Atlantic gales and waves. Visiting
wrecks was part of my duty, which sometimes demanded
long journeys in stormy weather over rugged hilly roads,
on an outside car, with various attendant discomforts
which would now seem appalling. But these expedi-
tions on the whole were pleasures, and have left
pleasurable memories. They were part of the freer
physical life upon which I entered in passing from the
Bank to the Customs. Her Majesty's Customs at
Donegal occupied a narrow little first-floor room in
Dillon's Hotel, a good-sized and comfortably kept house,
where I also boarded and lodged at moderate annual
rate, having a back room where my meals were served
to me separately, by particular favour, and the chairs,
tables, and sometimes the floor, were piled and littered
with books of all sizes, old and new. Here I could sit
reading for hours every day with little interruption,
stepping across the passage when wanted at my office
to receive notice of the arrival of a vessel, or sign her
papers when outward-bound, or make out a Light-Bill
(so much for each Lighthouse passed on the voyage),
or witness the engagement or paying-ofF of seamen.
Outdoors, there came the occasional visiting of vessels,
measurement of logs and deals, and ' bread-stuffs '
(chiefly maize) and — by far the most troublesome

1846 DONEGAL 23

business, but the most interesting — the examination of
the fittings and provisions of Emigrant ships, and
the calling over, when ready for sea, of the lists of
Passengers, who came forward one by one, men, women,
and children, to pass the doctor and myself. There
were also visits to coastguard stations, to navy and
other Pensioners, and now and again, as I have said,
to a Wreck, usually at some distant part of the
coast.

I was the only Customs Officer in the district, which
suited my mood perfectly, but no doubt helped to foster
the feeling of isolation which is so strong in me. My
district was officially ' in the Port of Sligo,' to which
I sent monthly accounts, and the collector visited me
once a quarter, and I was also in some respects under
the sub-collector of Ballyshannon ; but there was seldom
any interference. My family name was a guarantee in
itself ; I discharged my functions intelligently and con-
scientiously, as well as with popularity, and the nature
of them and of the locus in quo^ gave me a scope and
freedom of action, and a personal respect everywhere,
not usually associated with so humble an official position
as mine. I enjoyed my new position on the whole,
without analysis, as a great improvement on the Bank ;
and, for the rest, my inner mind was brimful of love
and poetry, and usually, all external things appeared
trivial save in their relations to it.

Yet I am reminded by old memoranda that there
were sometimes over-clouding anxieties, sometimes, but
not very frequently, from lack of money, more often
from longing for culture, conversation, and opportunity ;
oftenest from fear of a sudden development of some
form of lung disease, the seeds of which I supposed to
be sown in my bodily constitution. I can recall few
details of my first year at Donegal.

I used to go over often to Ballyshannon in the evening
and return in the morning, or from Saturday to Monday,
sleeping at my Father's ; generally travelling by the

34 DONEGAL 1847

Derry and Sligo mail-coach, and kept up all my old
intimacies with the places and people by the Erne.

I had for literary correspondents Leigh Hunt,
George Giliillan, and Samuel Ferguson ; and for love-
correspondent, F., whose hand-writing always sent a
thrill through me at the first glance and the fiftieth
perusal. What a day it was when one of those letters
reached me ! — all the more prized for the difficulties
that beset their transmission. I loved an Ideal, angelic-
ally fine, impossible to hurt or destroy as a dream of
Heaven ; but it had a very sweet little human core,
which (I am thankful) keeps its spring -flower-like
tenderness in my memory. Appropinquity can breed
love, it can sometimes sully or kill it. Fate kept us
mostly separated in space even while we were one in
spirit ; our rare meetings were, to me at least, mystic-
ally sacred occasions.

[The story of William Allingham's life, in strict auto-
biographic form, ends at this point. He wrote out,
from his note-books, conversations he had had with
interesting men, evidently with the intention of incor-
porating them in his account, but beyond this date
nothing was completed.

The story is continued in diary form, the first entry
being in June of the following year.]

1847. — ^^ June this year I took my holiday and
went to London, and on the evening of my arrival went
to the Princess's Theatre to see Macready in Macbeth.
He disappointed me ; his elocution grated ; but I was
struck by the way he delivered one phrase — ' There's
no such thing ! '

Next night to Norma at Her Majesty's Theatre — a
* command ' night and a great squeeze, but I got a
good seat in the pit. Jenny Lind is not physically well-
fitted for the part of Norma, and her girlishness was
made more noticeable by the stoutness of her Adalgisa
(Barroni). She had also against her the fixed notions of

1847 LONDON 35

the public as to the character and person of Norma (a
kind of Medea) being very different from every one
who had represented it before her, A punster might
say she was ab-Normal. Grisi too had appeared in
it {her best character perhaps) only three days before.
Yet Jenny Lind's personation was not only very fine
(her singing, of course, most beautiful), but carried her
audience with her throughout. Her bitter disappoint-
ment was very sad, her shame and agony in the last
scene truly affecting. Her pity for Adalgisa was most
tenderly expressed : —

Ah sventurata ! del tuo premier mattino
Gia turbato e il sereno !

And in the subsequent scene, when Adalgisa says,
' How pale thou art ! ' the tone of Norma's reply —
' Pallor di morte,' — sank into one's heart. Jenny Lind
is the only actress I ever saw that I could imagine
myself in love with. She is too good for the stage,

Thursday^ June 17. — Covent Garden Opera. Grisi
in Norma. She looks the part better than Jenny does,
and had a specially grand moment when she rushed up
the altar-steps and smote the sacred shield. But she
never touched my heart like the Swedish lady.

Wednesday^ June 23. — Found Edwardes Square,
Kensington, and Leigh Hunt's house, No. 32, left card.

Thursday., June 24. — Note from Leigh Hunt.

Friday., June 25. — To Edwardes Square, saw cab
with white horse driving away from No. 32, knocked,
and found that it was Leigh Hunt, who had just gone
off ' to the rehearsal of his play.' This was the Play to
be acted for his benefit by Dickens and others. If I
had been one minute sooner he might have taken me
with him — perhaps even into the theatre ! wild thought !

Sunday Evening., June 27. — 32 Edwardes Square,
and find Leigh Hunt at last. I was shown into the
Study, an^ had some minutes to look round at the
Book-cases, Busts, old framed engravings, and to glance

36 LONDON 1847

at some of the books on the table, diligently marked
and noted in the well-known neatest of hand-writings.
Outside the window climbed a hop on its trellis. The
door opened and in came the Genius Loci, a tallish
young old man, in dark dressing-gown and wide
turned-down shirt-collar, his copious iron-gray hair
falling almost to his shoulders. The friendly brown
eyes, simple yet fine-toned voice, easy hand-pressure,
gave me greeting as to one already well-known to him.
Our talk fell first on reason and instinct ; he maintained
(for argument's sake, I thought) that beasts may be
equal or superior to men. He has a light earnestness
of manner, and toleration for almost every possible
different view from his own. Of freewill he said, ' I
would much rather be without it. I should like to feel
myself taken care of in the arms of beneficent power.
— Paganini incomparable ; when he came forward and
struck "the first chord, my neighbour in the Opera pit (an
Italian) exclaimed in a low voice, " O Dio ! " Violin,
or better violino, is the name for his instrument. Com-
mon English players 7?^^Z?, it is a good word for their
playing. Macready is not a genius, he is our best actor
now because there is no other. He keeps a fine house,
but is not in what is called the best society.'

I ask him about certain highly interesting men.
' Dickens — a pleasant fellow, very busy now, lives in an
old"house in Devonshire Terrace, Marylebone.
' Carlyle — I know him well.

' Browning — lives at Peckham, because no one else
does ! "a. born poet, but loves contradictions. Shake-
speare and Milton write plainly, the Sun and Moon
write plainly, and why can't Browning ,?' I suggested
he was the Turner of poetry, to which Leigh Hunt

, replied, ' Now, you've said it ! He's a pleasant fellow,

{ has few readers, and will be glad to find you admire

I him.'(! !)

' ' I shall now be able to see my friends oftener, and
will take an opportunity of asking Dickens, Carlyle,

1847 LONDON 37

and Browning to meet you.' (Gracious Powers ! ! !)
' I would do so for few.'

' Moxon isnot a publisher but a secreter of books.

'Browning says, "People may find my publisher
after a careful search, but myself scarcely at all."

' If I see Dickens at Mr. Talfourd's on Tuesday, I'll
mention you to him.'

Jenny Lind — I said I admired and loved her so much
that I wished she would leave the stage, to which Leigh
Hunt replied : ' Would not that be a pity, when the
public sympathises with her sweet genius } '

W. A. — ' I doubt that : the public is a bad judge
of the finest things.' L. H. agreed,

W. A. — 'It is pleasant to walk home from the
theatre on a fine night, perhaps the best part of the
amusement.'

L. H. — ' And one is going to rest.'

Speaking of his poem, ' The Glove and the Lions,' I
objected to the knight's flinging the glove in the lady's
face, but Leigh Hunt argued for it : ' He treated her as
no woman. Every one admits the justice of it — except
you^ now — Browning ? Oh, he is sure to take the opposite
view from everybody else ! ' I said it would make me
suspect the knight of having been frightened, ' cowardice
is passionate.' ' That's true,' said Leigh Hunt.

Walked back, under a lovely moon, to Surrey Street,

Strand. ^-—

' 'Friday^ July 2, Evening. — Leigh Hunt's. He was
tired, but asked me to stay.

L. H. — ' I hate Dante : in reading him I first found
that a great Poet can be an unamiable man. Words-
worth was personally very disagreeable. I am asked to
meet Hans Christian Andersen, now in London. Can't
understand why people want to see tne — I am used to
myself. O yes, I like to see some men of letters.
Dislike mountains, can't bear height, my legs shudder
at the thought of it. — London is the best place for you ;
why don't you try and live in it ^ ' Walk back.

38^^ LONDON 1847

-'^ Monday^ July 5. — A short interview with Hans
Andersen. He had not English enough to allow of our
conversing, asked me to write to him ; but I have
nothing to say save that I love him, and many people
tell him that. He is tall and lanky, with queer long
face, but friendliness and intelligence shining through.
Feels out-of-sorts in London.

JVednesday^ July 7. — Evening at Leigh Hunt's. I
give him Yityvjoodi's HieYWifiy' of Blessed Angels. 'A
nice book to have ! ' he remarks. ' I see you are of a
giving turn.' Religion, ' Painful to see any assemblage
of fellow-creatures we cannot join. Ask a man why he
does not worship Brahma, and he will begin to give you
reasons. Believers in any form of religion don't like to
be reminded of the possibility of doubt.' I met Andersen
the other day at dinner and we were mutually unintelli-
gible. I had the pleasure of feeling his arm, his arm in
mine, on the way to dinner ; it was the thinnest arm I
ever felt. He looks like a man in the last stage of con-
sumption ; but, observe, I don't know that he is in the
last stage of consumption. He looks like a large child,
a sort of half-angel. There were many people of rank
present, yet no one in the room looked more distingue
than Andersen, the shoe-maker's son.'

Sunday, July 11. — At Leigh Hunt's. He looks
^ wonderfully different in the street from in the house.
■' There, a spare old man in a frock-coat and black stock,
f with weak eyes and rather careworn look ; here, a
I young man (though of sixty), with luxuriant if gray
\ locks, open shirt collar and flowing dressing-gown,
f bright face, and the easiest way of talking in the world,
\ He is fond of droll paradox, full of delicate appreciation,

tgay, gentle, good-humoured, with a natural gift, well
cultivated, of finding out the ' soul of goodness in things
evil.'

Monday, July 12. — Having received a civil little
note signed ' S.R.' giving me leave, I went to Mr.
Rogers's house in St. James's Place, and was shown

1847 DONEGAL 39

through three rooms hung with good pictures. In the
parlour Raphael's ' Christ in the Garden,' Guercino
(Mr, Rogers's favourite, the servant says). Landscape
by Rubens, Guide's ' Crown of Thorns,' Rembrandt,
etc.

Tuesday^ July 13. — Liverpool. Coach to George's
Dock, Maiden City steamer. Walk, dull narrow lanes
between huge warehouses, numbers of Irish. Breakfast
in small hotel. Steamer — Cumberland mountains. Isle
of Man — gentleman on deck remarked that was ' a fine
island to be out in the sea.' Drunken sailor-passengers
at horseplay on deck, afterwards fell asleep in a heap.

Wednesday^ July 14. — Came on deck at Moville,
beautiful morning ; the Foyle looked spacious and fine
as we glided up to Derry.

Friday^ July 16. — Coach, fine day; Strabane,
Stranorlar, and through Barnesmore Gap to Donegal.
Old James greets me with his kind old smile and says,
' Sure, you've seen all sorts of elegance.'

July 17. — To Ballyshannon. My father in the
garden.

Monday^ July 19. — Coach to Donegal. Then car to
Killybegs on Customs duty : horse falls.

Tuesday, July 20. — Killybegs. Walked over Carn-
tullagh to Bruckless to my good friends the Barretts.
I prefer the rocky grandeur of this prospect to the
luscious richness seen from Richmond Hill. Woman
gathering wild heartsease ' for tea ' : they use many
herbs thus. Dine at Bruckless ; go up river in boat.

July 11. — Bruckless; boat to Killybegs, passing
rocks with caverns. — Visit three vessels, Andromeda,
South Durham and another Brig. Land and visit Roman
Catholic Church, where is a good copy of a Murillo for
altarpiece. Boat again, heavy rain.

* Sowing wide the fruitless main,' — good line: whose }
why, Leigh Hunt's. He has many happy lines and
phrases. I feel in succession clammy, damp, wet, then
rivulets running down the backs of my legs. Bruckless.

40 DONEGAL 1847

Barrett lends me a suit of his clothes, a world too wide,
including a monstrous dress coat with brass buttons.
Dinner, Dr. M. and ladies, Sam Cassidy, etc. Songs,
loo, supper, hot lobster — bed 2,30.

Thursday^ October ^%. — Donegal. Set out for Lochrus
on Customs duty. Outside car, moors and bare
mountains to Ardara, when the groves of Woodhill give
a softening. The sun set into a jagged cloud breathing
flame from its openings, rested on the dark mountains,
disappeared, leaving a gloomy memory which soon faded
too. Then the wind blew colder, the road became
indistinct, the moors blended into a dim waste. Dine
at Ardara, snug little room, adorned with pictures of
Christ entering Jerusalem, Mary Queen of Scots, and
Byron in a very large turn-down collar, with his arm
round the waist of a lady with dark eyes and ringlets.
A young naval officer in another room, who smokes
cigars. Biddy says with pride, ' O, Ardara's never
without a stranger ! ' Driving back — in calm cold air,
the stars shone in intense points of light all over the
sky, the Heavenly Plough at rest in the unfurrowed
air, the Pleiades glittering in the east, and we travelling
straight south from the Polar Star. Then the moon-
dawn spread up the sky, and above a low black outline
of hills was lifted the bright snow-cold Presence, show-
ing the solitary road and ghostly brown moorland
stretching away on either side.

November i . — Donegal — dry, but gloomy and blow-
ing. Order Miss Barrett's poems and Hood's poems —
receive first number of Hewitt's Journal.

Friday^ November 5. — The poor crazy man who likes
to be called Mister Gallagher says he ' finds his head
rather hypothetical to day ' ; attributes it ' to the
familiarity of the atmosphere.' Howitf s Journal has
my ' Hallow Eve Chant ' inaccurately printed. Play
on the fiddle.

November 9. — Emerson is in Manchester. I wrote
to him to-day. • ■

iS48 DONEGAL 41

Friday^ November 12. — Donegal Fair. Went to
Ballyshannon, a fine clear cold day. Heard saying,
' Like Manus, I may go where I like,' and asked origin
of it. One Manus died and came before St. Peter,
who was sending Catholics off in one direction and
Protestants in another. ' What are you ' '^. says St.
Peter. ' Nothing at all,' says Manus. ' Then go where
you like.'

Saturday^ November 13, 1847. — Mendelssohn dead I
Wrote lines, ' By the shore, a plot of ground.'

IVednesday^ November 24. — Letter from Emerson.

November 30. — Visit Poorhouse, Tom Read, crazy
man with small sharp black eyes ; sometimes keeps a
piece of iron on his head to do his brain good ; plays
on a fiddle, the first and second strings only packthread,
' Ain kind Dearie,' ' Pandun o' Rafferty,' grunting and
groaning all the while, and groaning fiercely when he
struck a note out of tune. I promise him strings.
' Does your Honour live far away .'' '

December 3. — Irish Idylls. Read Blot in the
''Scutcheon. Bravo, Browning !

Decetnber 5. — Dream — dine with the Queen, who
asks me to ' try her custard pudding.' I ask if Her
Majesty knows the song of ' Miss Baily,' and recite it to
her. Cobbett's Tear in America good. Cobbett was
a Man. '

"December 21. — Carlyle on Johnson : unfair cut at
poor Keats — ' If a man can be killed by a review, let it
be done.* If Carlyle is a sturdy big-boned man, let him
be thankful and considerate.

[In the following year nothing is recorded in the
diary at any length until September.]

Saturday, September 16, 1848. — Donegal. To Inver.
Cranny by field-path. The MacMunn family friendly
and cheerful, both old and young, a pleasure to see.
The freshness and innocence of the country on every-
thing in such a household.

42 DONEGAL 1848

Drive back, to Donegal ; slanting sunrays and
shadows on the blue hills. Pastoral vale of Killymard,
some barley still green, some in stocks, oats mostly ripe,
little wheat. I like to think of the Cranny family.
Great the boon of a sweet face ! Immense the benefit
of a good matron — doing, helping, encouraging, check-
ing, soothing, suggesting, guiding everything and
everywhere, without fuss, almost unnoticed. Watching
every wheel and pivot, every movement of the little
commonwealth's mechanism, and with a soft feather
and light touch applying the oil of gentleness wherever
needed, so that the whole runs smoothly, without grate
or jar, and with only the soft hum of happy employ-
ment, as of bees among blossoms. O the beauty of a
household rich in innocence, industry, and mutual love !

Ultonians, in whom Scotch and English order and
decency are blended with Irish heartiness, are a good
kind of people, and the peculiar wild fun and tender
fancy belonging to the Kelts are, not seldom, transfused
among those who have lived so long in the midst of
Irish customs, traditions, music, and scenery, — not to
speak of intermarriages. MacMunn is doubtless a
Scotch name, in spite of the saying, ' Per O atque Mac
veros cognoscis Hibernos.' Perhaps Hiberni stands
for Kelts. A question : if Scotch Kelts be taken as
descended from Irish (Scotic) ancestors, how comes
there to be such a crowd of Macs amonor the Low-

landers, and many of them with emphatically Lowland
characteristics ^

Glimpse of happy domestic life at Cranny to-dav
delightful. Delightful also to drive back at evening to
the certainty of rest, retirement, books, and perhaps
something good from the Post Office — which may this
moment be on our table waiting to greet us.

Sunday, Septembey 17. — Fine morning, but a smell
of winter in the sunny air ; night frosts. On Martin's
car to Ballyshannon. Dull wide sky. Thoughts on
things in general. Are there not moods when earth

i848 DUBLIN 43

life seems long enough, and to fall asleep for ever
nothing to repine at ? Yes, but these are not the best
moods. Between the third and fourth mile-stone my
mind brightens, without any traceable cause. Perhaps
God will leave the human race on the Earth planet
until, in the aggregate, they shall have ransacked and
learned everything possible to them about its nature
and laws.

Tuesday^ September 19. — Ballyshannon — fine. Prac-
tise violin with Hagarty, 12 to 2. Wet evening.
Violin again, Haydn and Mozart.

September 26. — Dine at Peter Kelly's, nine priests at
table — much song-singing afterwards.

Sunday, October 8. — Dublin. Conviction of O'Brien.
Church. Anthem, fine voices. Mere harmony soon
cloys.

As to the Religious Service, who came here for that ?
Ah, if there were one sufficient faith and worship for
all — how happy, peaceful, perfect a privilege it were to
come together, how noble to be a Minister, and how
noble it would behove a Minister to be !

Tuesday y October 10. — Dublin; to Hawkins St.
Theatre to see Jenny Lind in Sonnambula^ her opening
night here. An hour at door, crowd thickening, rush
and crush upstairs to lower gallery. Curtain rises, the
charming Jenny has to wait till the reiterated greetings
subside. ' Three cheers for Jenny Lind ! ' (from the
gallery). ' Wan cheer more ! ' 'A cheer for her
Mother ! ' at which Amina smiled. Then we had
Come per me sereno^ etc., all to perfection, but sung
as I fancied more floridly than when I heard her
in London. She looks thinner. Flower-scene most
exquisite and touching ! O fiore — Ah non credea^ the
flowers falling through her hands as she sings. Ah !
non giunge not very good, I thought ; encored, on
account of its difficulty. Half a dozen to a dozen
bouquets were thrown, no extraordinary excitement.
When curtain fell 1 rushed down and made my way

DUBLIN

into the pit in the hope of getting one of Amina's
flowers which had fallen near the footlights, but it
was gone. Cold air outside, crowd, Jenny's carriage,
police.

The Theatre at best a hollow, unwholesome, unsatis-
fying excitement.

October 14. — Opera again. La Figlia del Reggim-
mento. Jenny's camp manner, dashing shake of the
hand, etc., but no way bold or impudent.

December 29. — Chateaubriand. He is not entirely
free from some of the particular sins of French writing.
He affects Byronism.

To Session Court : girl convicted of stealing a purse
and sentenced to seven years' transportation ; she is
removed shrieking violently. It seems a severe sentence.

Wrote to Henry Sutton.

CHAPTER III

1849-1850

Monday^ January i, Donegal, 1849. — Write on slavery.
Black V. White (is writing for pay advisable ?) Walk
to mill. Hungry — dinner — violin, Tennyson's poems.
Reverend Jos. Welsh and English land-agent Wilson,
after attending investigation into the Wray explosion,
came to a snack in my room. Wilson looked into my
Tennyson, and saying, ' Now this is what I call stuff I '
began to read out part of i^none. I said, ' Let me look
at it,' and put the book in my pocket without another
word. He appeared rather stunned. How Tennyson
gives the effect of everything, — enriched with a peculiar
glow ! Violin again.

Friday^ January 5. — Frost. Customs accounts. To
Killybegs by Mail-Car, walk up the long hills, slip on
skates and skate a little by the road-side, then run after
the car, warm. Denis laughing.

Inver. Sun sinking, deep red globe with a stroke
of black cloud in the centre ; now an arch, as it were
the open gate of Heaven revealing glory within ; now
a ruby moon ; now the last look from a deep eye of
radiance, and — all's gone.

Wrote ' Crucible.' Read aloud.

January 8. — At Killybegs. Read Tennyson and
Wittick's Norway. Fairy Song : ' Wee folk, good
folk,' etc. Violin.

Thursday., March 15. — Ballyshannon. Plant ivy

46 BALLYSHANNON 1849

round the Old Barrack ruins, accompanied by three
pairs of slate castanets. Walk through fields at Cool-
colly, with sycamores, green mounds, and rillet hid
within a hedge, a place of mysterious beauty to me in
old old days of childhood ; and so across the Abbey
river, round Legaltion Lough, and home. Mem.: the
word ' brook ' not used here : they say ' river ' or
' water ' ; and ' water ' is also applied to large streams.
After dinner down the Mall ; boys with hoops leaping
wall. Aboard Kent. Sailors on boat, a coarse and
reckless set.

People catching young eels {lifogues) no thicker
than twine, in bags ; they are cooked into the shape of
cakes or small cheeses. But this catching of the fry is
not allowed. Tea. French.

Mr. Heagney (the Collector) remarks on hearing
of the death of a retired Customs officer whom he
knew, ' It's a queer world this ! There's a man gone
that had eleven and eightpence a day — eleven and
eightpence ! I wonder where Moses and Aaron are now,
and David and Goliath, and all these. They were
certainly here — they certainly were. And Nero and
Caligula too — bad, bad men, tyrants — tye-ranny — tye-
rrannous ! — not a chirp in them ! ' Some ships were
waiting in the bay for a chance of crossing the bar. I
asked, ' Will they get in to-day .'' ' Mr. H. (ironically),
' Ay ! — there's a line of breakers as white as Ananias's
wall at Jerusalem, and the Alps and Apennines out
beyond them. Get in ! '

Sunday^ June 24. — Ballyshannon. Have been ap-
pointed Controller of Customs at Ramsey, Isle of Man,
at _^i20 a year. Letter to-day ordering me to go.
Last Sunday here — for how long }

Thursday^ June 28. — Walk along river by Upper Fall
to Stonewold. Then Jane, Clarissa, sister Jane and I
by riverside, grassy headlands, leafy gulfs, rushing
white steam (described in Music Master') to Camlin.

Saturday 30. — Coach to Dublin. Dawn purple and

1849 DUBLIN 47

gold, plains of Meath, the round sun rises. Very like
the first morning I ever entered Dublin.

Dine at Professor MacGauley's, Marlboro' St. Smell
of machine oil. Scientific Bachelor's menage — viands,
roast beef, and boiled mutton. Scampish looking
young woman waited. At dinner, Bishop Denvir
(Catholic), Dr. O'Connell, D.D., Priest Laffan, Dr.
Stapleton, M.D., Uncles John and James, John-James
and Edward, W.A., and the host. Priest LafFan has
red cheeks and black eyes, big calves and rich voice, —
sure to be a singer. After dinner much talking and
laughing, but the bishop silent.

Shakespeare's morality, and that of the other
Elizabethan Dramatists. Catholicity. Uncle John
(tho' his wife is devoted to the Church) is well known
to be thoroughly heterodox. Dr. O'Connell fell to
bantering him. ' You would make as good a clergyman
as any of us, sir ! You'd only have to speak dog-
matically and correctly ' {i.e. no matter what you
believed). Uncle John shook his head. Presently
O'Connell exclaimed (he was very talkative), ' O my
God ! — I saw some children in the street to-day fighting
about a marble, and I longed to be like them, all their
happiness centred in that !'

Uncle John, — ' I shouldn't care for such happiness.'

Dr. Stapleton. — ' To mortify the flesh, that's the
whole thing ; the flesh ; to mortify the flesh.'

Then O'Connell told us how he answered ' Old
Whately ' on some logical point and got the better of
him. After this came a discussion on hypocrisy,
MacGauley arguing that it was better for public morals
when a man concealed his vices. Dr. S. exclaimed,
' Give me the rock that shows its head above the
billows.' Then they came back to religion, and Uncle
John said some plain things about the incredibility of
much that is taught under that name, backed by his
brother-in-law, Dan Brett, a shrewd and gentlemanly
old Dubliner. Dr. O'Connell turned on Brett, seeking

48 DUBLIN 1849

to pose him, — ' Do you believe in a God ? ' to which
Dan quietly replied, ' I decline answering that question,
because I consider it offensive.' On which the professor
proposed that we should go to the workshop. The
silent bishop had already gone thither, and we found
him mending an engine-band.

The Church of Rome, entrenched within elaborate
logical lines, fears no assault made according to logical
rule. She knows that the existence of the Deity can
neither be proved nor disproved by argument, and
that the opponent who says ' Yes ' or ' No ' to this
question may be made to look foolish.

We looked at furnace, etc., and passed into the
lecture-theatre and workshop. A large bottle labelled
Liq. Ammon. Fortiss. stood on a shelf. Dr. Stapleton
remarking knowingly, ' Mac never has this good,'
pulled out the stopper and put his nose over the
bottle, but immediately jerked his head aside as if he
had received a blow — as in fact he had. We all felt
the violent smell, and there was laughter ; but in the
course of a few minutes all one side of the doctor's face
grew red and swollen, tho' he was in too jovial a mood
to notice it much. We saw models of various engines,
microscopes, electric machine, air-pumps, and what not.
Then we returned to the parlour again and more liquid
applications, internal this time, and not ammonia. The
D.D. and M.D. showed the effects plainly in both
the manner and substance of their speech. They pro-
posed ' changing professions.'

Dr. S. — ' I'll teach you how to manage the ladies, —
and I know that you could do it well. I could make the
ladies cry at my sermons and give lots of money ;
they'd say, " what a fine man he is ! " '

Our host had discovered something that wanted
setting right in the workshop and stayed behind. Dr.
O'C. : ' Poor Mac ! he'll be so annoyed. Go down for
him, tell him to come up till we have a game of cards.'
After an argument between MacGauley and John-

iS49 RAMSEY 49

James on valves, our party took leave and mounted a
back outside-car in Gloucester Street, which was driven
with erratic speed. Uncle John remarked in his usual
placid way, ' 1 look on myself as in some danger now,'
and my cousin gave anecdotes of upsets but we got
safe home.

Sunday^ July i . — Dine at Seafield. Uncle John tells
of sturdy beggar who accosted him with a menacing
look, ' If I'm not fed, I'll ate a man ! ' to which Uncle
J, answered quietly, ' Don't spare him on my account.'

July 2. — North Wall. Isle of Man steamer.

Douglas^ Isle of Man ^ July 3. — Custom-House : walk
about narrow streets. Sign declaration. Collector
Baldwin gentlemanly and clever, says of Isle of Man :
' It's a queer place — a very queer place ! ' Doesn't like
it. Coach for Ramsey. Hilly road : horses crawl
up and dash down alarmingly. Driver and guard both
boys, the first of Lancashire parentage, the other, ' Joe,'
of Irish. Manx language. Green hills and valleys
with the level sea behind, just like Ireland. Cloven
stones : Irish Joe shows the superior 'cuteness of his
breed, and looseness of statement as well. Hill into
Laxey — I walk up hill beyond ; talk to a girl sing-
ing by the roadside and to a boy herding cows, and
find them frank and civil. We see King Orry's grave
on the hill. Joe sings ' His courting coat on,' and
some Manx songs. I sing. View of Ramsey, Albert
Tower, etc. To Albert Hotel ; pay six shillings for
carriage of trunks, etc. Tea and bed.

Ramsey^ Wednesday, July 4. — Ask if I can go to
the Tynwald to-morrow.

Ramsey, Thursday, July 5. — 6 o'clock — fine market-
place ; coach. Crowds on the road. Coach passengers
hearty and conversational. Dumpling-faced woman in
black satin, with black eyes and hair to match. Pretty
wooded road takes us past Bishop's Court, lying low,
with neat pastures, the palace of ' Sodor and Man,' a
Bishop who has several other ecclesiastics to help him

50 RAMSEY 1849

in supervising the church affairs of an island of 50,000
souls, mostly Methodists, ' Sodor,' whatever it was,
non est inventus : Bishop should go and look for it.
Coach ; crowds on the road. Kirkmichael (Kirmickle) ;
into a barer country with peep of the sea, and so to
St. John's, where we see booths and people, and the tent
upon ancient Tynwald Hill itself, a little grassy mound
about twelve feet high, cut into three terraces and a
flight of steps. I go into the empty tent, no one
questioning. Take a sketch. Soldiers march in, play-
ing Fulla-la-la-lu. Coach arrives with band. Crowd
moves slowly about as at a small country fair. In the
church, the more fashionable folk : the portly deemster
and the dapper deemster, both bowing and smirking
among their numerous acquaintances. The building
new and showy, with painted windows and confectionery
chandeliers. Enter Governor Hope, a tall red-haired,
light-complexioned Scot, in green uniform, high-plumed
cocked hat resting on his arm. A stout butcher-like
parson then goes through the service. Then out, the
procession is formed and moves to the hill, which is
now thronged. A functionary stands at the door of
the tent and reads something which few can hear, but
which is understood to be the Laws recently passed by
the House of Keys. A small man next me is in extreme
anxiety to hear and see — calls out ' Silence there ! ' —
' Down with that parasol ! ' then to me, * Can you hear
what they're saying ? Is it Manx ? Has he a wig
on ? ' ' No, but he has a pair of spectacles.' All over
here. They return to church, some huzza, Hope
enchanted, smiles and waves his golden hair ; when his
hat and feathers are on he looks at least ten feet
high. Then the booths are full of countryfolk, male and
female, with mugs of ale, etc. Fiddlers — soldiers —
band. Drovers with horses. Fishermen — drunken
men and boys. Wearisome. 6 o'clock, coach at
last, driver drunk, galloping down hills, swaying and
shaking, a dangerous journey; one woman-passenger

i849 LONDON 51

frightened ; — dumpling-faced woman doesn't mind, ' has
enjoyed herself jo much ! ' — eats ginger-bread. Another
stout young woman only says, ' Eh, law ! ' when the
coach lurches. The driver grows benevolent, says often,
' Bless you, sir — bless you — bless you ! ' We get safe
back to Ramsey after all. The Manx horses seem used
to this sort of travelling, and I suppose they manage
their drivers.

July 6. — A man at table d'hcte to-day, dark, long-
haired, notable looking ; as he sat after dinner with
wine and cigar a thought flashed — Could it be Alfred
Tennyson ! Talked a little with him, and Tennyson
quickly vanished.

Sunday^ July 11. — Talk metaphysics with Schiller
(' relation of the poet '). He calls himself a Progression-
ist. We spoke of Swedenborg. Performance of Faust
at Frankfort — Richter, Goethe, Carlyle, etc.

Monday^ July 23. — Leave come — preparations.
Steamer.

Wednesday^ July 25. — London — Norfolk Hotel,
Surrey Street. Cholera bad. Never thought about it !
Out to visit Vernon Gallery. Drury Lane pit, found
The Beggar s Opera very dull, and Sims Reeves, in spite
of his voice, a vulgar singer.

July 26. — To Cheyne Row, Chelsea. Mr. Carlyle
not returned, and may not for another month. Edwardes
Square — Leigh Hunt not in.

Saturday^ July 2^. — Fine. Royal Academy. Turner's
'Wreck Buoy ' — Webster's * Slide,' Mulready's 'Women
Bathing,' Martin's blue ' Happy Valley.' Stanfield's
water looks like beer after Turner's prismatic crystal.
Landseer's ' Dying Lion,' Leslie's ' Don Quixote and the
Chaplain.' Water Colour Exhibition.

August 3. — Lincoln's Inn. St. Mary Axe, Duke's
Place, Synagogue. There remains a higher feeling than
curiosity in witnessing the religious ceremonies of this
ancient Race in the heart of a great alien City, and in
the 1 849th year of a rival Era.

52 LONDON 1849

Sunday, August 5. — To Kentish Town and walk to
Highgate Cemetery, terrace, catacombs, yews, view of
London. Out to churchyard to find Coleridge's grave,
locked ; inquire for sexton's house, he is ' at church ' ;
so I have to peep through gate at what a man tells
me is the railing round C.'s grave, under an ivied
wall. Look then at the house where he lived with
Dr. Oilman (now Surgeon Brendon's), plain corner
house of last century with dormer windows and large
window in gable, shaded by a mimosa. Some fine elms
and beeches are ranged in front, and tall trees rise
behind. Out of one window looks a black cat, perhaps
belonging to the Witch of Christabel. Splendid evening,
sun-lighted road, down Highgate Hill on omnibus.
Fleet Street. Chop at 'The Cock.' Curious old
mantelpiece, which I sketched on fly-leaf of Poe's
Poems, bought at a book-stall. Had the waiter ever
heard of a Mr. Tennyson } — ' Mr. Tennyson, sir ^ —
No, sir.' Tried the other waiter : he had heard of
him, but had never seen him.

I. — 'You're not "the plump head-waiter".?' — 'Oh,
you mean William, sir. He's here every day but
Sunday.'

Thursday, August^. — Chop at ' Cock' with half a pint
of port to drink the Poet's health. The veritable
William waited on me.

' Are you Mr. Tennyson's friend ' }

William. — ' He says so, sir.'

This answer puzzled me. (Does William think it
was a liberty to put him in rhyme ?) ' Has he been
often here } '

W. — ' I don't know his appearance at all, sir. A
gen'elman might be coming 'ere for twenty years
without my knowing his name. Thousands 'ave asked
me the same question, and some won't believe but that
I know all about it. But I don't. I should like to
see him, — very much. I'm told he's breaking, sir.
I should like to see him.' William evidently felt

iS49 LONDON 53

sorrowful, and in a manner aggrieved, at never having
identified the man who spoke of him so familiarly.

August II. — To Colchester. Find Henry Sutton's
lodging. Talk, then out to walk. Visit the castle by
twilight, the time for all ruins. Sutton gives me a
letter to Mr. Patmore.

August 15. — Letter from Mr. Coventry Patmore,
very kind, and made me happy : ticket for Museum
Library enclosed.

August 16. — To British Museum. I ask for Mr.
Patmore, and am shown in to him — a tall, thin, mild-
faced young man, very kind. We talk about Blake.
We walk through the rooms.

Friday^ August 17. — To Slater, publisher, and talked
to him about a new edition of Blake's poems : civil,
and seems inclined to publish.

Saturday, August 18. — British Museum Library:
Mr. Patmore. He helps me to look up Blake, but
without success ; they seem to have nothing of his.
We look at books of Middle Age Art ; saints and
demons. P. tells me he has written a book or article
on architecture, with a quite new theory, — ' You will
be surprised it has not been hit upon before. Can
you walk up with me this evening "? ' — ' Yes.'

On the way to Camden Town he told me about
his new poem.

Neat small house on left-hand side of road, near a
railway bridge. Mrs. Patmore — ' Emily.' Tea and
cake. Two small sitting-rooms with folding door
between : front room has engraved portraits of Words-
worth and Faraday over the mantelpiece ('the two
greatest men of our time '), a round table with ten or
a dozen books, and plaster cast of a statuette of Puck —
just alighted on a mushroom and about to push with
his toe a bewildered frog which a snake is on the point
of snapping up. You can see that he saves the frog
out of fun mostly, and to tease the snake. He is a
sturdy elf, plainly, yet not humanly, masculine. A

54 LONDON 1849

very original bit of work, by ' a young artist named
Woolner.' In the back room P.'s writing-table at the
window, with a few bookshelves beside it. I noticed
Coleridge's Table Talk and Aids to Reflection^ and Keats's
Remains. Then we started on a walk northward.
Patmore thoroughly agrees with me that artistic form
is necessary to poetry. ' Tennyson perhaps likes the
" Vision of Sin " best of his own poems. He said it was
suggested to him by a line rejected from another poem.'
(This line is, I afterwards learned, ' A little grain of
conscience made him sour.')

We came to Hampstead Heath, and looked past a
foreground of fir-trees over a wide undulating prospect
tufted with trees, and richly cultivated, a lake shining
in the distance under the evening sky. On the other
side huge London lying sombre and silent. We were
just in time to see the effect of the lighting of the
lamps. The dusky mass awoke, and here and there,
and soon all over, glowed with multitudinous sparks, —
' like,' said Patmore, ' the volcanic crust of the earth
not yet cooled ' — or like the advancing judgment of
the Last Day : no ark avails against that fiery deluge.
The evening was growing cold as we returned to
Highgate and descended the hill, P. showing me on
the way the house, in a sort of crescent with trees
before it, where he formerly lived, and where Emerson
and Tennyson sat at his table and liked each other.

Incidentally a poem was mentioned, ' The Pilot's

Daughter,' which it seems Emerson showed to Patmore.

r ' It was mine,' I said ; ' I sent it to Emerson in a

■: letter ' (Patmore surprised). ' Are you the writer of

^; that ^ I must take care what I say ! ' Then he went

f on to ask me how much poetry I had written : had I

\ as many verses as would fill seventy pages ? ' Seventy

pages like that would be something uncommon ! ' (this

is mighty encouraging !) After some supper Patmore

showed me in MS. his poem of' The Storm,' or 'The Two

Journeys.' Tennyson's mark is on the margin in various

1849 RAMSEY 55

places : ' + T.' Patmore said : ' When Tennyson finds
anything in poetry that touches him — not pathos, but
a happy hne or epithet — the tears come into his eyes.'
He went on to tell me : ' I have in this room perhaps
the greatest literary treasure in England — the manu-
script of Tennyson's next poem. It is written in a thing
like a butcher's account-book. He left it behind him
in his lodging when he was up in London and wrote to
me to go and look for it. He had no other copy, and
he never remembers his verses. I found it by chance,
in a drawer ; if I had been a little later it would prob-
ably have been sold to a butter-shop.' Before I went
away Patmore took out this MS. book from a cabinet
and turned over the leaves before my longing eyes, but
Tennyson had told him not to show it to anybody.
Mrs. Patmore had copied it out for the press, and T.
gave her the original.

I was not even told the title at this time. It was In
Memoriam.

' It is the best thing he has ever done,' said
Patmore.

Sunday, August 19. — Dinner at Mr. Patmore's. Dis-
cussion on writing poetry — he for consciousness, I for
unconsciousness : he thinks a poet ought to know
exactly what he wants to do and how to set about it ;
I am for knowing all one can, but also for poetising
without conscious reference to rules and precedents. I
produce my verses — 'Pilot's Daughter,' 'By the
Shore,' ' Fairies,' etc. P. praises, and proposes a joint
publication.

Tuesday, August 21. — Eugene P. calls and we walk
westward and into Hyde Park. In Piccadilly we meet .; ^J^j
Leigh Hunt and I greet him. As we say good-bye
Eugene Patmore says, ' I am very glad to have seen
Leigh Hunt — he's much pleasanter-looking than I
expected, — an excellent face.' Leigh Hunt is now |_ jr
sixty-five. If I ever have any doubts about him, they It ^ ^
vanish at one glance of his eye.

56 RAMSEY 1849

September 4. — Unexpected letter : appointed Sub-
Controller at Ballyshannon. ;^i2o a year.

Ramsey^ October 10. — Walk on shore — into coffee-
room : characteristic island scene : Mr. G. at table, a
plate of sandwiches before him, nodding stiffly off his chair
with half-closed eyes : T. asleep on the sofa. I waken
G. for half a minute, when he goes to sofa and lies down,
half on T., half on a chair. 1 sketch them. Landlord
comes in. ' When you've done with them I want to
get 'em off.' Sketch done, I waken them with a tune
on the poker and fire shovel : G. puts a bed-chamber
candlestick twice on his head before he is convinced
it is not his hat ; they get away somehow. Island of
Trinculos and Calibans, no Prospero, alas no Miranda.

Monday^ October 15. — 'Steamer coming ! seen cross-
ing the bay,' hurry to boat, with Manx kitten in a
basket (G. declares it was stolen from him). Men
pull fast, one swinging a lantern for signal — ' She mayn't
wait for you ! ' — ' She's brought to ! ' Alongside, I
tumble up, boxes ditto ; one of the men — ' You were
very near being left behind.'

Saloon, chat. On deck, Ramsey light in the
distance, Point of Ayr brilliant. Good-bye !

Manx kitten escapes and is recovered after an excit-
ing hunt. Close to Mull of Galloway. Talk with
Captain C. Below, all turned in but Mr. L. Mr. F.
shows his jolly red John Browdie face over the edge of
his berth. Next to him a drunken gentleman trying
hard to repeat —

She walks the water like a-a-a thingolife.

As if t'dare (stage whisper) th' el'ments, t'strife.

I turn in, drest. In the morning some one asks,
* Steward, where are we now ^ '

Steward (aggrieved, with an Ulster accent) : ' Ah,
it's a shame for you to be always asking me questions !
You haven't given me a bit a' pace the whole night.'

' I only asked you once.*

,850 BALLYSHANNON 57

* You've been askin' me all night.'

It was human, and not a bit insolent. Can an
Englishman of the serving class assert himself without
insolence ,''

Five in the morning, off Portrush, Mr. F. up and
others. Drunken gentleman lowered over the side into
a boat. I turn to sleep again, till I hear, ' within four
miles of Derry,' when up and on deck to a cold fine
morning and beautiful broad river. Land at wharf,
car to inn, walk up town and back to breakfast. Then
railway, and with my cousin Sam Watt to Strabane.
Sims's Hotel, greet and am greeted by various — all
seems as if it had happened already.

Wednesday^ October 17. — Up about 7. Wet and
windy. O for a coach, not an outside-car ! Tom the
waiter (blackish, bilious, middle-aged little man) in a
chronic rage with nobody in particular, just as formerly.
A coach is to go. Cup of tea. Inside seat 9s. 9d. —
Donegal. Letter from Arthur Clough, which I read in
coach. Home. Custom-House.

I forgot to record that on my day of leaving the
Bibulous Island, while waiting for the steamer I ordered
and drank a glass of whisky toddy, thereby making a
sensation in the hotel, for up till then I had never
drunk a drop of alcohol in Mona, partly from economy,
but more to keep at arm's length the continual incite-
ment to liquid excess. If one considers the case as a
moraUst, I don't know whether I was right or wrong to
take this toddy in extremis. It put me, at all events,
in the true light as a voluntary abstainer not a vowed
teetotaller, and I am as unwilling to be thought better
than I am — as worse.

Bally shannon., March 25, 1850. — Read announce-
ment of new poem by Browning, ' Christmas Eve and
Easter Day ' — what will he do with it }

Saturday^ April 6. — Abbey River, Washpool : sit
under shadow of ruined house with back to a rock.

58 BALLYSHANNON 1850

reading Emerson on Plato, to the tune of running
water, — a good accompaniment to study.

Sunday^ April 7. — A guinea from Household Words
for ' Lady Alice,' with a compliment from Dickens.
Walk, Rockfields, the valley edge ; Hanagan's steps.
After tea wrote ' The Touchstone.' Bed late.

Friday^ April 12. — Busy at Office. Goethe's Auto-
biography. Riverside, lie on grass, hat off, scribbling
down poems ; an ant or spider sometimes crossing the
sunny page ; bee bustling in my ear. For some days
I have written a poem every evening ; am beginning
to know how to write poetry.

Monday^ 22. — Bundoran, walk on shore towards the
caves. Read Emerson on Swedenborg, high and pleasant
thoughts ; look over the Atlantic to America and
to Emerson. Thought of a tragedy. Evening —
' Flowers and Poets.'

Thursday, April 25. — Letter from Patmore, returning
' The Music Master ' ; is going to show my lyrics to
Tennyson. Copy twelve new ones and send them with
letter.

Saturday, April 2'j. — Fine — Stonewold — rode brown
mare. Home and find Wordsworth is gone ! Rode
back to Stonewold, chanting an improvised psalm to
the departed spirit. Do not tell of the death : nobody
to care. Sunset beautiful.

Sunday, April 28. — Lines on Wordsworth's death.
Evening — revise ' The Music Master.'

Tuesday, May 2. — Very fine. Fair Day. Women
trying to sell cow, ' As honest a little cow as stands in
the fair.'

Down the Mall with Thoreau's book, tVeek on
the Concord and Merrimac Rivers, green slope near the
Coves. Boat, floating. Thoreau's nature and freshness,
mixed with impatience. Back to town and sit on wall
to watch the Fair.

London, Friday, July 19. — With Woolner, two

iS5o LONDON 59

Rossettis, and Buchanan Reid in omnibus to Chelsea, to
Holman Hunt's lodging, large first-floor room looking
on river, near the old church. Deverell — much talk on
pictures, etc. ; we have coffee and fruit ; some lie on
the floor smoking.

Elegiac poem — 'To N. P. Rogers, Esq., in Heaven.'
Painter proposing to call his picture ' Gil Bias about
to endeavour to assume an air of unconcern while
waiting on the robbers in their cave ' — a very subtle
shade of expression. ' Bring some milk from the
pantry,' — Tipsy man in reply : ' Is it done up in paper
or lying about loose ^ '

Hunt's picture of ' Claudio and Isabella ' ; he has to
be at the Royal Academy every morning now at seven,
copying for somebody. As it was now late, and his
guests showed no wish to depart. Hunt lay down on
three chairs for a nap ; but they only made merry of
his drowsiness, proposed to sit on him, etc., and so the
time lounged on till dawn was broad upon the river
and its trailing barges, and D. G. Rossetti (usual
Captain on such occasions and notorious night-bird)
uprooted himself at last from some cushion or easy-
chair, and all departed, after three o'clock, save myself,
to whom Hunt kindly offered a spare bed.

July 21. — To Mrs. Howitt's, tea. Miss Meteyard
and others.

September 7. — Letter from T. Carlyle, Ecclefechan,
recommends me to study general history and German.

September 17. — Letter and portrait from Leigh
Hunt. [In Mrs. AlHngham's possession.] — —

CHAPTER IV

1851-1853

I VENTURED to Send my first volume of verse (1850)
to Tennyson from Ballyshannon. I don't think he
wrote to me, but I heard indirectly that he thought well
of it ; and during a visit to London in the summer of
1 85 1 Coventry Patmore, to my boundless joy, let me
know that I might call on the great Poet, then not long
married, and living at Twickenham.

Saturday^ June 28, was the appointed day, and in the
warm afternoon I walked from Twickenham Railway
Station to Montpelier Row, quite away from the
village. It proved to be a single row of about a dozen
moderate-sized houses, that seemed dropped by accident
among quiet fields and large trees, * Chapel House '
where T. lived (so called I know not why) being the
last at the south end of the terrace, where I think the
byroad ended.

I was admitted, shown upstairs into a room with
books lying about, and soon came in a tall, broad-
shouldered swarthy man, slightly stooping, with loose
dark hair and beard. He wore spectacles, and was
obviously very near-sighted. Hollow cheeks and the
dark pallor of his skin gave him an unhealthy appear-
ance. He was a strange and almost spectral figure.
The Great Man peered close at me, and then shook
hands cordially, yet with a profound quietude of
manner. He was then about forty-one, but looked

I85I LONDON 6 1

much older, from his bulk, his short-sight, stooping
shoulders, and loose careless dress. He looked tired,
and said he had been asleep and was suffering from hay-
fever. Mrs. Tennyson came in, very sweet and
courteous, with low soft voice, and by and by when I
rose to take leave she said, ' Won't you stay for dinner ? '
which I was too happy to do. Mr. Tennyson went
out, and returning took me upstairs to his study — a
small room looking out to the back over gardens and
trees. He took up my volume of poems, saying, ' You
can see it is a good deal dirtier than most of the
books.' Then turning the pages, he made critical
remarks, mostly laudatory. Of ' Cross Examination ' he
said, ' I looked sharp at it to see if any of the rhymes
were forced.' He objected to ' rose ' and ' clothes ' in
' The Touchstone ' (since corrected). Then he asked,
' Do you dislike to hear your own things read ? ' and
receiving a respectfully encouraging reply, read two of
the ' iEolian Harps,' first, ' Is it all in vain .? ' then,
' What saith the River ? ' The rich, slow solemn chant
of his voice glorified the little poems. In reading the
last line of the second — ' For ever, ever, ever fled
away ! ' he paused after the two ' evers ' and gave the
third as by an afterthought, thus adding greatly to the
impressiveness. He especially admired —

Night with her cold fingers

Sprinkles moonbeams on the dim sea-waste.

I said, ' That was Donegal Bay.' T. replied, ' I
knew you took it direct from nature.' The pieces never
seemed to me so good before or since.

At dinner there was talk of Wordsworth, etc.
T. spoke of George Meredith's poems, lately sent to
him, author only twenty-three ; ' I thanked him for it
and praised it — " Love in the Valley " best.' I said I
also knew the book, and had bought it. T. gets enough
poetry without buying : ' Thev send me nothing but
poetry ! ' — ' As if you lived on jam,' I said.

62 LONDON 1851

T. — ' And such jam ! Yes, I did lately receive a
prose book, Critical Strictures on Great Authors^ " a
first hastily scribbled effusion," the writer said. There
was this in it, " We exhort Tennyson to abandon the
weeping willow with its fragile and earthward-tending
twigs, and adopt the poplar, with its one Heaven-
pointing finger." ' 'A pop'lar poet,' says I.

Aft:er Mrs. Tennyson had gone upstairs, Patmore was
announced. T. said, ' You didn't know Allingham was
here,' and it rejoiced me to hear the familiar mention
of my name. Over our port we talked of grave
matters. T. said his belief rested on two things, a

'Chief Intelligence and Immortality.' 'I could not

eat my dinner without a belief in immortality. If I
didn't believe in that, I'd go down immediately and jump
off Richmond Bridge.' Then to me, rather shortly,
* Why do you laugh } ' I murmured that there was
something ludicrous in the image of his jumping off
Richmond Bridge. ' Well,' he rejoined, ' in such a
case I'd as soon make a comic end as a tragic' I
went out to the garden, where were Mrs. Tennyson
with Mrs. Patmore and her sister. Returning to the
house there was tea, to which Tennyson came in, mutter-
ing as he entered the room ' we exhort Tennyson.'

I smiled. He said, ' What are you laughing at ? You
don't know what I'm saying.' I said ' O yes, I do.'

After tea he went upstairs and smoked, Patmore
and I sitting with him : English and Irish character-
istics ; the English an ill-mannered people. Edgar
Poe : T. did not know ' The Raven,' and I recited
some lines of it, to which T. listened attentively. New
Forest : Tom Taylor's story of artist painting in the
Forest suddenly seeing a little brown man, who had
crept up unseen and clutched his bottle : ' Gin } ' says
he ; ' Water,' says the painter, and the little brown man
immediately disappeared. When we took leave T.
came out to the gate and again shook hands with me.
I said, ' Ask me to find a lodge for you on the West

1853 LONDON 63

coast of Ireland ' ; he, ' I should like it very much.'
We walked to Richmond railway station, I feeling that
a longing of my life had been fulfilled, and as if I had
been familiar for years with this great and simple
man.

In 1853, being in London, from Ireland, for a short
holiday, I wrote to Twickenham and had a kind reply
under the Poet's hand asking me to come, and adding

' As my wife is not very well you must " tread

softly and speak low." ' So on Thursday the first of
November I went from Waterloo Station to Richmond
by rail, walked over Richmond Bridge — a fine day,
autumnal woodlands mirrored in the river, struck a field-
path on the left, and passing after a bit under some tall
trees emerged through a little gate upon the grass-plot
fronting Montpelier Terrace. As I came forward to
Chapel House two other men approached the door, one
of them something like T., and went in, not without a
suspicious glance or two at me.

I was soon in the Poet's much-longed-for presence,
who shook hands in the most delightful, simple, friendly
way, and asked me to stay and dine ; then said he had
to go away for a little and handed me a book for my
amusement. When he returned he was carrying in his
arms his baby son, called ' Hallam ' ; the child had a
ball to amuse him, which he liked to drop on the floor
exclaiming, ' Tha ! ' or ' Da ! ' as it fell. Then T. took
me up to wash my hands in the dressing-room, its
window looking across several gardens, and a sunset
sky shining through the trees. Returning to the
drawing-room I found Mrs. Tennyson — sweet, pale,
and kind ; Mr. Frederick Tennvson the eldest of the
brothers, and Mr. Edward FitzGerald {Omar Khayyam),
the two gentlemen whom I had encountered at the front
door. Mr. FitzGerald (' Fitz '), an old and intimate
friend, told droll stories with a quaint gravity, much
amusing Mrs. Tennyson in particular. One was about

64 LONDON 1855

old Miss Edgeworth, whom he knew, and her turban.
She used to take it off for coolness and resume it when
visitors were announced. One day by some mischance
a strange gentleman came into the room and found her
writing with her almost bald pate plainly visible.
Miss E. started up with the greatest agility seized her
turban which lay close by and darted through an
opposite door, whence she quickly reappeared with
the decoration upon her head, but unluckily turned
wrong side foremost. He also told us of Mr. Edge-
worth's tombs of his three wives in the park at
Edge worthsto wn .

After dinner, poetry was the subject. Mr. Fitz-
Gerald stood up for Pope's ' Homer,' and tried in vain
to get T.'s approval.

* You think it very wonderful surely ? *

T. — ' I don't think I do.'

' O yes, you do, Alfred ! '

T. — ' No, I do not.'

Frederick T. set Schiller above Goethe, to which I
strongly objected. A. T. said : ' If one of you is for
Goethe and the other for Schiller, you'll never agree on
poetry.' Moore was mentioned ; his skilful versifica-
tion in fitting words to music. T. objected to the
line —

She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps.

I did not find much the matter with it, but T,
would not allow ' young hero ' to pass, the metre
requiring a dactyl there : ' I wonder you don't see,'
he said. ' Subaltern ' I suggested. ' Yes, that would
do, as far as sound goes.' We turned to Campbell's
* Soldier's Dream,' and T. objected to ' Our bugles sang
truce,' both for the two ss and the accentuation. Of
the two lines —

And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered.
The weary to sleep and the wounded to die —

1853 LONDON 65

he said, ' Those are perfect.' Then we spoke of
Shelley's accents, and I quoted —

Of the snake's adamantine voluminousness,

but without effect. I called Browning a vivid man,
to which T. assented, adding, * How he did flourish
about when he was here ! '

Then came on Dickens' cockney History of England^
Professor Aytoun (not praised), Thackeray's Book of
Snobs, and Mr. Martin Tupper.

I spilt some port on the cloth, and T,, with his
usual imperturbability spread salt on it, remarking as
he did so, ' I believe it never comes out ! ' Then we
went upstairs to tea. I praised the view from the
windows at the back. He said nothing would grow in
his own garden but stones : ' I believe they grow. I
pick up all I can see, and the next time I come there
are just as many.' Then T., Frederick T., Edward F.
and I to the study, where smoking and stories, some of
an ammoniacal saltness. When I took leave, Mr.
Frederick T. shook hands kindly, spite of our differences
of opinion, and T. came with me to the front garden
gate.

When I got to station the last train was gone, and
1 walked into London by Kew and Turnham Green,
followed all along Kew Garden wall by a possible
footpad, whom I outstept.

CHAPTER IV {continued)

1850-1863

[From 1850 until 1853 Allingham held the post of
Custom-House Officer in his native town, Ballyshannon.
Under these dates the entries in his diaries were, for
the most part, in the form of memoranda. No fuller
record is forthcoming, the only account which he
wrote out in detail being that of his two visits to
Tennyson at Twickenham. The whole would doubtless
have served as material for the autobiography which he
began in later life. Wherever possible, extracts have
been made.

These quiet studious years were interrupted only by
visits to London, and by shorter visits, from time to
time, to Dublin and other places nearer home. Ailing-
ham's reading was wide and incessant. Besides keeping
abreast of current literature — in close touch with the
output of his many contemporaries — he worked
diligently at history, at Latin, at Greek ; and with
these studies found time also to practise his violin.
After the day's work and the evening's study he played
it, not infrequently, into the next morning's hours.
His quick appreciation of nature filled his note-book
with almost daily impressions. No effect of sea or sky,
mountain or lake, field or road, escaped him ; and to
the record of these larger impressions was added that
of a careful observation of the growth of leaves, of
flowers, and of the doings of the birds. Now it was

i85o BALLYSHANNON 67

the sight of ' a beautiful greyhound,' the ' running of
a rabbit,' or the flight of a bird that arrested him, and
found a place among the memoranda he so faithfully
kept.

For comradeship, for experience of people and of
character, he was always ready. He never failed to
perceive the human incidents by the way : in the routine
of his daily life, or in the more varied opportunities of
travel — in the train, on the coach, by the roadside.

He was keenly ahve to the happenings in his own
town, and his sympathy was for the difficulties and
sufferings of the unfortunate no less than for the
interests and pleasures of the well-to-do. Those in
trouble were sure of his attention. He had that gift
of thoughtfulness which means so much to the sufferer.
In his heart the flower of kindness bloomed day by day
for those who needed sympathy.

He was often in the infirmary, to sit with a sick
neighbour, and in the National School to see how it
fared there with the children. To festive gatherings
he often contributed by singing, and he never failed to
attend the Ballyshannon Fairs. At one of these he
records how he went into a * show ' where there was
a gaming-table, and ' put on once,' — to see what it
was like, as, later, he ' once ' attended high mass.

His physical energy was as great as his mental
activity : AUingham was a rider, a skater, a swimmer,
and a great walker. Whenever he came upon young
people playing games, jumping or running, he joined
their sport, and was, as a rule, the winner. Even his
scanty notes at this time show what pleasure it gave
him to ' climb the rocks,' or row, or ' wade out bare-
legged to the fishing boats.'

To children his kindness was unfailing, and there
are many entries, through these peaceful years, of his
talks and games with the little ones about him.

In 1850 AUingham published his volume of Poems.
In the June of this year he was in London, for a few

68 LONDON 1850

days, the guest of Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Clough at
University Hall, and went to Willis's Rooms to hear
one of Thackeray's Lectures on the English Humorists.
There he met Dickens, Forster, and Mrs. Carlyle, and
a few days later he dined with Thackeray and Father
Prout. Under this date he wrote, ' Thackeray hoaxes
us by describing the night as lovely, bright moon,
stars, etc. — is in fact raining, and cabs are sent for.'

He was also at a performance given at the Hanover
Square Rooms, in which Dickens played Boots, and
Mrs. Gamp ' in brown bonnet and corkscrew curls.'

During this time in London he saw a good deal of
William and Mary Howitt, then living, in St. John's
Wood, but his chief companions were Dante Gabriel
Rossetti and Woolner, and their party frequently
included William Rossetti, F. G, Stephens, Blanchard,
and Hannay.

He was often at the opera, and much of his time
was given to the study of the pictures of the Pre-
Raphaelite Brotherhood.

In August he was at home again, attending to
the Customs, and making constant notes of the
beautiful aspects of Ballyshannon, especially of the
sea. The following was written on October 2 1 of this
year : —

' Shaded avenue of vaulted foliage, pillared with
slender stems. The trees, moved by the night-wind,
mingled their rustling with the rustling of the unseen
rivulet. In the foreground drooped, like a green
mist, the long pale leafage of a large sallow. Risen
behind the fluctuating shade there quivered through
it, in threads and sparks of fire, the loveliness of the
young golden moon ; and high above the highest dim
tree-tops came out one star, trembling.'

Through these years his reading included Homer,
Plato, Plutarch, Meredith's Poems, Coleridge, Emerson,
Gibbon, Dante, Swedenborg, Byron, Barnes, Bacon's
Essays — he read and walked every evening. But in

1854 COLERAINE 69

spite of this rich company of minds he was sometimes
' unhappy and discontented,' and regretted his want of
'a regular system of education.'

In September 1853 he left Ballyshannon, exchang-
ing his post for the Customs Office at Coleraine ; but
he found little to do in that town, and speaks of his
work there as ' morose duty.' His daily interest was
in reading, correspondence, and the writing of his
poems. He made several friends during his short
stay, and it was there the children (for whom he seems
to have always had sweets in his pocket) used to sing,
' here comes the lozenge man,' when they saw him
coming. In October he went to Belfast to inquire
about some literary post with a publisher ; it evidently
came to nothing, for later in the same month he was
in London, on leave, once more among his old friends,
and constantly with Rossetti.

Early in 1854 Allingham gave up the Customs,
determined to try literary life in London. The
following letters, to his father and sister, were written
at this time.]

Coleraine, Feb. 12, 1854.

My dear Father — I have really and truly given up the
Customs — as I mentioned yesterday in a letter to Catherine —
and am to leave this on Thursday next for London via Belfast.
Having decided on the step, it would have been useless to
delay, especially as the opening of the London season is the
very best time for entering on my new occupation. How
precisely I am to be employed and what immediate income I
may expect out of it I think it better to defer speaking of till
I have made a beginning, but I will write you after my arrival
in London, and regularly afterwards, and I hope to pay you a
long visit in the latter part of the summer, and to see you
enjoying plenty of the open air. The Premier and the Home
Secretary are your seniors by half a dozen years each, and their
posts are no idle ones.

It is natural that my resolve should appear to you and others
to be a rash one — an unusual one I know it is, but the circum-
stances are unusual, and after giving the thing long consideration

70 LONDON i8s4

I feel that I am right — whether I shall succeed or not to the
extent of my hopes.

I neither expect, nor desire much, to make more money,
for a year or two, than will support me respectably ; and mean-
while I shall endeavour to make what use I can of the means
afforded me by London to compensate for the defectiveness of
my education.

I know London pretty well — shall live regularly and quietly
— have many and good friends there, and hope to strengthen
and extend my acquaintance — and shall have opportunities, of
various kinds, quite unattainable elsewhere. If I have good
health, I see little risk in the enterprise, and incalculable
advantages. At all events, I could not be satisfied without
making the trial, and the step is irrevocably taken, so pray
don't throw cold water on it, which could only serve to make
me uncomfortable, without doing any good : and do not be
uneasy about it. As I shall probably make some calls on the
road I may not reach London before Monday or Tuesday
next. I do not yet know the address of my lodgings, but
letters sent, meanwhile, to the care of C. Patmore, Esq., 8
[The] Grove, Kentish Town, London, will reach me.

Give my best regards to all at home, and believe me, my
dear Father, yours most sincerely, W. A., Jr.

Derby,

Wednesday, Feb. 22, 1854.

My dear Catherine — I wrote to my father from Liver-
pool, and also sent him a Daily News with a long Ode of
mine called ' Peace and War,' which I hope has arrived.

I came here yesterday to spend a day or two with my friend
Mr. Gurney [not Coventry) Patmore, who is editor of the Derby
Mercury^ and may not reach London before Friday. ... I
dined with Mr. John Miller, a rich and well-known merchant,
who is a great picture buyer, and an admirer of Millais, Hunt,
etc. He has a fine family and is an agreeable acquaintance.

But I also met a man of greater interest — Nathaniel
Hawthorne. I called on him at his Consul's office, a dirty
little busy place on the line of docks, and was very kindly
received. He happened to have heard my name. He is about
forty-six years old, middle sized, hair dark, forehead bald, features
elegant though American, cheeks shaved, eyes dark. He is
very bashful in manner, and speaks little and in a low tone.

1854 LONDON 71

He has not yet had time to visit London, but intends to do
so some time in Spring, when I hope to see more of him.
He looked oddly out of place in Liverpool. I w^ill virite again
from London w^hen I arrive, and meanwhile remain, my dear
Catherine, ever yours, W. A., Jr.

London, 50 Southampton Row,
Russell Sqr., March 8, 1854.

My dear Father — I was very glad to receive your kind
letters — also one, a day or two ago, from Catherine. I have
got into lodgings down in London, in a central situation. I
have at 1 7/- a week (which is thought low) a sitting-room and
bedroom which are comfortable enough, and the street is a
wide and good one, — but I am not sure that I am settled yet.
As to my employment, it will be writing for newspapers and
periodicals — of which more by and by ; but the subjects in
general would not be of much interest in Ballyshannon.

Whenever I do anything that I think you would like to see,
I will take care to send it to you. There was a little Nursery
Song of mine called ' Wishing ' in Household Words some weeks
ago. Mr. Dickens is going to write a story called ' Hard
Times,' as long as five monthly numbers, in Household IVords.
He lives within two streets of me, but I have not yet seen
him. I hear he writes all day and in the evening takes a long
walk in the direction of Hampstead or Highgate.

At first I cannot expect to do more than support myself,
and must feel some degree of anxiety as to my prospects, but
if my hopes of using properly the advantages of London be
not disappointed I shall in time make a good position. This
evening I bought 2 packets of flower seeds in Covent Garden
Market and sent them by post, one to you and the other to
Mr. Stubbs. As the packets are different, you can, if you like,
exchange some of the seeds with each other. I hope to see
some of them blowing in flowers in July.

I have had a note from Mr. Hawthorne, which I send you,
as you may like to see it. Pray return it at your leisure. . . .
Whenever you want anything done in London, let me know,
and I shall be most happy to attend to it, and with kindest
regards to all at home I remain my dear Father, always
affectionately yours, W. A., Jr.

[Immediately upon coming to London he was at
work for Household Words, The Athenaeum, and various
reviews.

72 LONDON 1854

He walked and dined almost daily with Rossetti,
and gave him, certainly, one sitting for his portrait ;
but this was probably never finished — there is no
further record of it in the diaries.

During these months, also, he saw a great deal of
Clough, of old Mr. and Mrs. Rossetti, and of Christina
Rossetti.

Everything promised success along the lines of pro-
fessional journalism, but this profession was not con-
genial to Allingham, and the following letter to his
sister, in June of the same year, gives very definitely
his reasons for preferring his former way of life.]

London, i Queen Sqr., Bloomsbury,
June 3, 1854.

My dear Catherine — After many delays I began this note,
as above, three days ago, and was interrupted by somebody
coming in. I would have written to you long ago, but for the
way I was circumstanced. I still like London, and find I could
make quite as large an income by writing as I expected. I had
yesterday a letter from an editor who heard of my intention
of going away, offering me ;^ioo a year certain for doing
something for him once a fortnight, and this is the yd regular
engagement that has been offered to me, with others in pros-
pect \ so that if I would ' take off my coat to it ' (which is
what Thackeray advised), I could make at the very outset
^300 or ;^400 a year. But to do this I must give myself up
entirely to desultory and ephemeral writing, truckle to editors
and people, and undergo countless anxieties and annoyances,
which would not at all suit me ; and therefore I think it much
better, all things considered, to return into quiet exile and
make the best of that. ... I believe all my friends here are
sorry I am going— though some, Carlyle in particular, think it
a blessed escape for me out of the profession of literature. . . .
On the ist of June I was at the Annual Meeting of Charity
Children in St. Paul's — very pretty to see. Countless rows of
boys and girls, each school with its own uniform, banners,
beadles, etc., ranged under the dome, all rising and sitting down
and singing together. After the service, it took them perhaps
half an hour to march out, by two doors, all in their new
clothes for the year. All the girls wear white mob caps and

I8S4 LONDON 73

white aprons, but the gowns and ribbons of the different schools
vary in colour, — the prettiest dresses, I think, were buft frocks,
blue ribbons, and long yellow gloves. The beadles, in gold
laced gowns and cocked hats of immense size, walked in front
of each division, and were received with expressions of ad-
miration (sometimes ironical) by the crowd outside- — -but the
children seemed to make a pleasant impression on everybody.
I felt proud to recognise the regiment of 'Oueen Sqr., Blooms-
bury,' among this army of infantry. I have come to like
my lodgings very much and they are admired by all my
visitors ; being both quiet and lively — for though there is no
thoroughfare for carriages at the upper end of the Square, it has
a great many foot passengers and is full of children, having a
fine plane tree, several poplars and hawthorns, and a grass plot
in front of my three windows. I can go into the garden when
I like, and have the gardener to touch his gold-laced hat to
me, under the shadow of Queen Anne, whose statue and title
adorn the Square. Part of one of the lines of street leading
down from it to Holborn, and that thro' which I usually pass,
is Kingsgate Street, — in which there is an Easy Shaving shop ;
but Mr, Sweedlepipe seems to have given way to a successor,
and I have not ventured to inquire if Mrs. Gamp were
within. . . ,

Tell Edward ^ his fish is admirable, and admired by artists.
Of course it is from a book ? Let him try some simple
thing from nature.— Best regards to all, from yours my dear
Catherine ever affectionately W. A., Jr.

[Allingham's friends, on the whole, thought his
decision to leave London wise. Carlyle, in particular,
declared himself ' very glad to heaF~it,' and added
characteristically, when saying good-bye, ' you'd have
gone from bad to worse ; now you can do your day's
work, and if you have anything to say or write, do so ;
and if no man will have it, you can say, " well, thank
God, I can do without selling it." '

Allingham obtained another appointment in the
Customs at New Ross ; and on the eve of his departure
thence he was busy with a last sitting to Munro for his
bust (a cast of which is now in the possession of Mrs.
Allingham), and going over his Day and Night Songs

1 Allingham's hull-brother.

74 NEW ROSS 1856

with Leigh Hunt, Rossetti ' doing ivy leaves on Day
and Night Songs' ^

A remark of Kingsley's, which evidently pleased
Allingham, was recorded on one of these farewell days :
it was the description of the Atlantic wave as ' a wall
of water a mile long walking in and dashing itself into
ten thousand shivers against the cliffs.'

On July 5, he was at his new post, working at the
Music Master^ and in the autumn of this year he wrote,
among other poems, his well-known, ' Robin Redbreast.'

He quickly made himself acquainted with the walks
and excursions around Ross, and there are many little
pen-and-ink sketches in his diary of the places which
specially interested him. There is a pretty entry, this
spring, of an accidental meeting with three little children
in the rain, and of how they had to shelter together
under the laurels, and saw the horse-chestnut buds
bursting into leaf ; and of how they went home together
under an umbrella, and a pair of clear eyes ' came peep-
ing from under a little blue cloak.'

In July this year he went to the Lakes for his
holiday, and in November he was back in his old place
at Ballyshannon, having effected another exchange with
the Customs. Here reading went on as steadily as
ever : he added astronomy to his other studies, and his
notes show that he was often ' out late at night — to see
stars.'

Early in 1856 Allingham received the first number
of the Oxford and Cambridge Magazine^ praising The
Germ^ and writing of Rossetti's illustration to Ailing-
ham's poem, ' The Maids of Elfin Mere,' as ' the best
drawing that has ever appeared in illustration of a book.'
His annual visit to London, this year, took place in
May, and one of his first calls was with Arthur Hughes
upon Rossetti, who, however, was not at home, but

1 This refers to the design which Rossetti made for a cover to Ailing-
ham's Day and Night Songs ; as it was not used, a reproduction of it is
given on the opposite page.

From a Design in Colour by D. G. Rossetti tor the Cover of
Dav and Night Songs.

1857 LONDON 75

whose picture of Dante's Dream was discovered some-
where in the room. It was put on the easel, and
Allingham made a Httle note in his diary of the ' two
lovely figures' and * rainbow of angels.'^ The visitors
also came upon his picture called ' Found,' in one of
the many stages of its progress, — 'The calf in cart and
bit of wall,' Allingham writes — that calf which grew so
many times into a cow during the thirty years in which
the picture was being painted.

He made many excursions, this month, with Rossetti
and Miss Siddal, and he was always of the ' assemblage '
which gathered so frequently at Rossetti's rooms.

One specially pleasant evening he recorded, when he
dined at Mr. and Mrs. Tom Taylor's with Tennyson
and Holman Hunt, and they sat under a walnut tree,
while Mrs. Tom Taylor sang ' The Brook,' and Hunt
and Tennyson talked about Jerusalem.

In March 1857 Allingham seems to have been in
Dublin, at a reception at the Castle, and at this time he
mentions a visit in Belfast to Mr. McCracken, one of
the first patrons of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood.

In July of this year he was in London, seeing a
good deal of William Morris, at the Burne-Joneses, and
also at Morris's own rooms in Red Lion Square, when
the talk was of ' mediaevalism,' of ' beauty of form and
colour,' and of the subjects in which Morris was the
great master.

During this holiday there were many delightful
breakfast parties, which included Hughes, Whitley
Stokes, Stephens, Boyce, Hannay, Patmore, Rossetti,
Morris, and Burne-Jones.

Carlyle he saw many times during this visit, and he
records* at length a characteristic answer to a suggestion
of his that Carlyle should write his autobiography : —

'I would,' said Carlyle, 'as soon think of cutting

1 Rossetti gave Allingham a pencil study for this picture, in which
Allingham stood, for a few minutes, as model for profile and hand. It is
now in Mrs. Allingham's possession.

76 PARIS 1858

my throat with my penknife when I get back home ! —

the biographers, too ; if those gentlemen would let me

■■ alone I should be much obliged to them. I would say,

. as Shakespeare would say to Peter Cunningham, " Sweet

I friend, for Jesus' sake forbear ! " '

This holiday was finished by AUingham at the Lakes,
where he visited the Tennysons at Coniston. In the
autumn there is, in his diary, mention of a letter in
connection with the Professorship of English at Cork,
which called forth a note of discontent : ' If I had [but]
entered Queen's College four years ago,' he says — ' dis-
satisfied and weary, twisted and deranged.' But the
mood does not last long : quite soon again he writes,
' I lie on the grass in the sun, the bay and green hills
before me, and read Benvenuto Cellini's Autobiography.'
The following is an extract from a note-book, of
August 1858, of a meeting with Thackeray] : —

Returning to Paris, after a short tour in Switzer-
land and North Italy, I found Thackeray in the Hotel
Bristol with his two daughters. He not well — often in
bed till mid-day or later — struggling with (Pendennis),
but in the evening usually recovering himself.

I told him I had been with the Brownings (who were
then in Paris, staying in the Rue Castiglioni, No. 6).

' Browning was here this morning,' Thackeray said,
j ' what spirits he has — almost too much for me in my
I weak state. He almost blew me out of bed ! '

' A wonderful fellow, indeed ! '

' Yes, and he doesn't drink wine.'

' He's already screwed up to concert pitch.'

' Far above it. But I can't manage his poetry.
What do you say ? '

(I spoke highly of it),

' Well, you see, I want poetry to be musical, to run
sweetly.'

' So do I '

' Then that does for your friend B. ! '

(C illi<ini - ~( Uiiujiuiin

1858 PARIS 77

I spoke of Browning's other qualities as so splendid
as to make him, as it were, a law in himself. But
Thackeray only smiled and declined further discussion.

' He has a good belief, in himself, at all events. I
suppose he doesn't care whether people praise him
or not.'

' I think he does, very much.'

' O does he ^ Then I'll say something about him
in a number.'

Thackeray took me to dine with him in the Palais
Royal. He noticed with quiet enjoyment every little
incident — beginning with the flourish with which our
waiter set down the dishes of Ostend oysters. After
tasting his wine Thackeray said, looking at me solemnly
through his large spectacles, ' One's first glass of wine
in the day is a great event.'

That dinner was delightful. He talked to me with
as much ease and familiarity as if I had been a favourite
nephew.

After dinner Thackeray proposed that we should go
to the Palais Royal Theatre, but on issuing forth he
changed his mind, and said we would call up Father
Prout. ' His quarters are close by. You know him,
don't you ? '

' Yes, I know that singing priest a little.'

He was then Paris Correspondent of the Globe^ and
his letters were much admired. It was said that the
Globe had been obliged to buy a fount of Greek type
by reason of Mahony's fondness for classical quotations.

In a narrow street at the back of the Palais Royal,
in a large lowish room on the ground floor, we found
the learned and witty Padre, loosely arrayed, reclining in
front of a book and a bottle of Burgundy. He greeted
us well, but in a low voice and said, ' Evening boys,
there's a young chap asleep there in the corner.' And
in a kind of recess we noted something like bed-clothes.
Thackeray was anxious to know who this might be, and
Prout explained that it was a young Paddy from Cork

78 WEIMAR i8s9

or thereabouts, who had been on a lark in Paris and
spent his money. Prout found him 'hard up,' and know-
ing something of his friends in Ireland had taken him in
to board and lodge, pending the arrival of succour.

This piece of humanity was much to Thackeray's
taste, as you may suppose. Thackeray said the
Burgundy was ' too strong,' and had brandy and water
instead.

We talked among other things of Dickens. I
said how much a story of Dickens might be improved
by a man of good taste with a pencil in his hand, by
merely scoring out this and that.

Says Thackeray (with an Irish brogue), ' Young man,
you're threadin' on the tail o' me coat ! '

1 did not understand at first,

' What you've just said applies very much to your
humble servant's things.'

I disclaimed this, and Prout said emphatically, ' Not
a word too much in them ! '

[In 1859 Allingham was in London in September —
* Three hours in D. G. R.'s rooms as of old ' — and the
month following he was travelling in Holland and
Germany.

He spent three days at Weimar, and on October 22
he writes in his diary] —

To Goethe's House, with Schuchardt, who was his
copyist for some years.

The hall.

The stairs (bronzed casts — one, a boy).

The lobby.

The reception rooms with glass cases, busts, drawers
of medals, etc. Torso (of a boy .'*) at end.

The working room, etc., low and plain.

First, clothes-room, old boots of the anklejack sort,
flannel shirts, dress coat, old hat (very big). Writing-
room, desks, little glass Napoleon, memoranda of annual
events : pasteboard pyramid ' for judging works of

1862 LONDON 79

art,' on the sides, each a different colour, the words,
Verstandt, Vernunft, Sinnlichkeit, Phantasie. Cushion
for leaning arms on.

Bedroom, green arm-chair wherein he died, medicine-
bottle. Lumber-room beyond. I open shutter of
bedroom.

Book-room, narrow and dark, row of shelves in the
centre. Carlyle's German Romances (uncut), with C.'s
writing descriptive of sketches of his house in Scotland.

Dine with Mr. Marshall at the summer Club House
on the Hill, and have genial talk, then to his house ; he
shows his poems in the Republic of Letters^ gives me
Goethe's Letters of F. von Stein.

[On November 8 he writes : ' at home in this old
Ballyshannon,' and soon his 'Nightingale Valley' appears,
and he mentions letters of thanks, for copies, from
Rossetti, Patmore, Woolner, and Stokes.

On December 28 is entered : 'My father's birth-
day— seventy years.'

Allingham remained in Ballyshannon through i860,
1 861, 1862, but during the two earlier years he made
very few entries in his diaries.

In May i860 he was in London, and writes: ' In
Carlyle's garden, some twenty yards by six ; ivy at the
end. Three or four liliac bushes ; an ash stands on
your left ; a little copper beech on your right gives just
an umbrella to sit under when the sun is hot ; a vine
or two on one wall, neighboured by a jasmine — one
pear tree.'

In September 1862 Allingham exchanged his post
at Ballyshannon for one in the London Customs : but
work at the docks was not congenial, and this second
attempt to settle in London was again unsuccessful.
He seems to have been ill and depressed during this
time, and in October he was away on sick leave.

The great pleasure of the year was his intimacy with
the Burne-Joneses ; much of his time was spent with them.

8o LONDON 1862

This autumn, also, he often saw WiUiam Morris,
in Red Lion Square, and went down several times with
him to the Red House. He writes of Mrs. Morris —
' tall, wonderful.'

There are many pleasant pictures of the Burne-
Joneses — ' Edward drawing, Mrs, Edward cutting out
shoes for Pip ' ; or again, ' Mrs. Edward sings old
ballads and Rossetti's songs.' With them he also
frequently met Swinburne, Webb, and Faulkner. One
day he records, more fully, an evening with Rossetti,
' lying on the grass in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and talking
with him of Christina's poems ; ' and an account of a
visit to the Carlyles on August 10 of this year, is
given here at length : — ]

Being up from Ballyshannon for a holiday, I was
at Cheyne Row to-day. Mrs. Carlyle received me with
great kindness. I had a new hat of some shape that
amused her ; she tried it on. Spoke of Thackeray's
new house, his dinners. Poodle Byng, T.'s daughters.
Carlyle has grayer hair than when I last saw him, and
patches of white in whisker. He spoke of competi-
tive examinations.

National Portrait Gallery — Lord Brougham. The
CommiTfee' wanted to put in Brougham's portrait, the
man still living, contrary to rule. C. opposed, and
added that when Brougham did die he would speedily
be forgotten. Lord Stanhope, Chairman, said with
polite surprise, ' Oh, a very remarkable man, surely —
great statesman, great orator!' 'No' (C. persisted),
' Brougham had done nothing worth remembering
particularly ; and at all events the rules of the Gallery,
etc.,' and gained his point.

It was on this occasion that C. noticed Dizzy, who
was present as a member of the Committee, looking at
him in a noticeable way. ' He took no part in the
discussion,' C. said, ' but I could see that he was looking
at me with a face of brotherly recognition — a wholly
sympathetic expression.' C. used often to refer to this

i863 BALLYSHANNON 8i

brotherly look of Dizzy (which, however, may not have
meant very much !) 'I found this look in his face —
although I had more than once or twice said hard things
of him publicly. I saw he entirely agreed with me as
to Brougham.'

It gave C. a little leaning to Dizzy when he thought
of it, tho' it did not change his opinion that D.'s
success was a scandal and shame for England.

[AUingham was back in Ballyshannon in December,
but there are no entries in his diary until March 1863,
when he was again in London arranging for another
exchange in the Customs. He was advised to take
Lymington, in Hampshire ; and when established there
his diaries are once more carefully kept.

The story continues in his own words.]

CHAPTER V

1863

Early in 1863 fortune not choice fixed my abode
at Lymington in Hampshire. ' You will be near
Tennyson,' said Carlyle, when I was taking leave of
him. ' I doubt if 1 shall see him,' I replied, dis-
heartened by a second failure to settle in London, and
disinclined for even the best company. ' Yes, yes,'
said C, ' you are sure to come together.'

I went to Lymington on Friday the 8th of May,
pleasant little old Town on its green hill, looking across
to the Isle of Wight some five miles away, to which a
steam -boat plied three or four times daily. I was
Lymington's Custom-House Officer, the only one, my
office being a small first-floor room over the Coastguard
Station, looking upon the little Harbour, (muddy at low
water, occupied chiefly by pleasure-yachts) and the woods
of Walhampton beyond. A little higher up a Ferry-Boat
rowed by a big man in a jersey, a Blue Giant, kept
crossing to and fro, and higher still was a Toll-Bridge,
to which the Boldre Water or Lymington River ran
down in its green valley, a quiet rural stream, from the
oaks, beeches, and brackens of the New Forest.

Depressed tho' I was, I felt a great deliciousness
in the quiet green lanes and hedges, thickets, woods
and distances ; and the evening after my arrival, stand-
ing at the field gate close to the Town, I heard four
nightingales.

1863 LYMINGTON 83

On Wednesday I crossed the Solent in our Steam-boat
for the first time, and stood in Yarmouth, a quaint
little old place, with its little waterside castle, Governor's
House (now the George Inn), and the arms of Henry
the Eighth carved in stone on a weedy wall, return-
ing by the last boat. I talked with the ' Engineer ' of
the Steam-boat, a pleasant and intelligent young man.
We spoke a little of Tennyson, whom he knew well
by sight. I asked had he read any of the Bard's
writings ? and he replied quite simply and modestly
that he could not understand Mr. Tennyson's poetry,
he saw it was intended for people of higher education
than himself. Mr. T., he said, had smoked a pipe
with George (the steward) in crossing.

The young man, native of Lymington, who is
going to London by exchange with me, with money
advantage in his favour, seems well fitted for town life.
When I praised the landscape he remarked that he
was ' No judge of beauty,' and to my question as we
walked towards his house — ' Do the nightingales sing
down this way .'' ' he answered quietly, ' Very likely
they do, I shouldn't know a nightingale if I heard it.'
He was not in the least contemptuous, but absolutely
obtuse on such matters, and wished, no doubt, to let
me know that it was useless to bring them forward in
his company. One sees the practical advantage of
variety of character. This young man won't mind
Thames Street and the barrel organs.

May 12-13. — Lymington Pleasure Fair. Booths in
the streets with toys and sweets, noise and clatter. Shows
— some monkeys and a wild boar, a ' Zulu Caffir ' ; fat
woman (leaving her baby behind the scenes) does
conjuring tricks — Dancing-booth — Shooting-galleries.
Gypsies — black-eyed girls in tawdry bright attire, brown
old witches, gypsy young man lithe and tall, wonder-
fully handsome animal, a black panther — and about
as trustworthy ^ How Oriental these people keep I
The English rustic, getting drunk, bellows discordant

84 LYMINGTON 1863

songs, tumbles down and snores, the Irishman quarrels
and strikes. Perhaps the kind of drink has something
to do with it. Pothouse beer is bad, but raw public-
house whisky is a frightful potation. What a country
is Ireland ! her chief manufacture is Calamity Water ^
a name too of her own devisal.

Saturday^ May 23. — Hear of the death of my half-
brother Thomas at Raphoe Royal School, where he was
assistant-master — honest and diligent, with a tenacious
memory. He was successful at Dublin University —
showed no original faculty.

Wednesday^ June 24 — Heard Spurgeon preach in a
tent in a field beside the town. ' If any man thirst,
etc,' anecdotes — prayer — good lungs. Rain — Spurgeon
put on his hat, many opened umbrellas. After the
service, people came to shake hands with him, and I drew
near. He said, ' I must be gone. I trust God has given
us some souls this evening,' I walked behind him ; he
has a big body, short legs, flat feet : Anglo-Saxon ? —
large brain, no doubt. His mind a mystery to me,
but not interesting.

Sunday^ June 28. — In the evening walked sadly along
the shore of the Solent eastwards by Pylewell — return-
ing, brought home a glow-worm and put it in a white
lily, through which it shone.

It was not till Friday the 3rd of July that I first saw
Freshwater. I crossed by the evening boat, walked over
the bridge, and after two or three miles of beautiful
green-sided roads, spoilt here and there by Forts,
reached the enchanted realm of Farringford, but coast-
ing outside could not see the house and would not
of course enter any gate. In the dusk I saw the
' noble Down ' rising up, its Beacon against the sky,
then got to the shore and the sea and white clifi^s. I
was thinking all the while of Tennyson, and felt very
doleful. Yet I had not the faintest thought of pre-
senting myself to him or wish, even, to meet him by
chance on his return (he was from home at this time).

1863 LYMINGTON 85

I have lost the faith I used to have in people's wishing to
see me — perhaps it is merely one of the signs that youth
has passed away. But I feel a natural bond to him (I
say it in humility) and to a very few others, and only
in their company am better contented than to be with
nature and books. With these persons I feel truly
humble, yet at the same time easy. I understand and
am understood, with words or without words. It is not
fame that attracts me, it disgusts me rather. Fame
has cooled many friendships for me, never made or
increased one. Fame is a thing of the ' World,' and
the ' World ' is a dreadful separator.

In the late summer dusk I returned through charm-
ing narrow leafy roads — the Moon rose like a surprise.

At Lymington in these first months I was busy
doing Laurence Bloomfield, the last five chapters,
which were coming out month by month in Fraser s
Magazine. After this ' The Ballad Book ' for Mac-
millan occupied the best part of my leisure time —
much reading, comparing, selecting and copying of
Ballads, to perhaps little result.

Monday^ July 6. — At Southampton Dock Station
my eye was caught by a middle-sized but singularly
well-knit figure of a man, strong, light, easy of move-
ment, almost Greek in his poses but altogether natural
and unconscious. He turned his head and who was it
but Tom Sayers in a white hat, with a bunch of charms
to his watch-chain. The high-shouldered pugilist such
as Leech draws is not the genuine article. Sayers has
rather falling shoulders though wide and muscular, so
has Heenan, and Tom King. Ease and freedom of
movement characterises them all, especially Sayers.
They doubtless much enjoy life in their way, so long
as they keep within tolerable bounds, and the fighting
itself is a great animal pleasure.

Tuesday., Wednesday., 7-8. — Wandered in the New
Forest — view of the wide woodland from Emery Down.
Slept at the Crown, Lyndhurst — Church, window de-

86 FRESHWATER 1863

signed by Jones ; Fresco, half done, of the ' Foolish
Virgins ' by Leighton. Lymington — a travelling circus
in the cricket-field, where I see Tom Sayers spar with
' Young Brooks ' : noticeable, how slight the movements
Tom made to avoid a blow, moving his head some-
times so little, that his antagonist's glove rippled up
Tom's short hair — then Tom's hand went in like a
flash of lightning.

Saturday^ July 11. — Copy and send off Laurence
Bloomjield^ Chapter X,, to Froude. Train to South-
ampton, young Parson with pleasant voice arguing with
old working man, who said he cared no more for a clergy-
man than for a chimney sweep, and scolded bishops.

Tuesday^ August 4. — Mrs, Arthur Clough, the poet's
widow, who had written to let me know, reached
Lymington Terminus with her three children, also her
sister Mrs. Coltman and her children, where I met
them, and we crossed over to Yarmouth together, a
roughish passage. They went on to Freshwater to a
house they had taken there ; I returned to Lymington.

August 10. — A very kind letter from Charles
Kingsley, quite unsought for, offering me introductions
to ' Sam St. Barbe,' (the banker here) and Captain
Mildmay. Next day a letter from Rossetti, complain-
ing of being ' restless,' and asking if he shall come and
pay me a visit. I reply ' Yes,' but he finds it mighty
hard to make the start, and puts off time after time,
coming at last.

August 16. — Stick at L. Bloonifield, Chapter XL,
all day, zndfms/i.

Saturday^ August 29. — Came to Freshwater and
walked with Mrs. Clough and Mrs. Coltman on Afton
Down ; slept at the Albion Hotel, amid a noise of
waves. The Landlady a big dreadful woman with
fiery face. Next morning breakfasted at Mrs. Clough's.
They all went to Church. I was left at home with
Clough's letters and American diary, which or a
selection from them Mrs. C. thinks of publishing.

1863 LYMINGTON 87

After an early dinner, we walked to Farringford and
found that the family were expected in about ten days.
Mr. Tennyson was ill (the woman said), and coming to
London from Harrogate. Mrs. Clough being an
intimate, we were admitted to the living rooms, and
saw plenty of books on shelves and tables, including
numerous presentation volumes of poetry, and the new
magazines — among which I noted with some satisfaction
Fraser with the new chapter of Laurence Bloomfield
(so lately teasing me in MS.).

Monday^ September 14. — Note from Mrs. Clough,
from Bournemouth — ' Mrs. Cameron will be glad
to see you at lunch, to meet Mr, Henry Taylor.'
Mrs. Clough was returning to the island to-day, and I
joined her with Mr. and Mrs. Coltman on the 3 o'clock
steamer. The Tennysons on board. T. and I just
spoke a few words, and then I went forward with
Mrs. Clough and kept out of his way. Returned to
Lymington.

Wednesday ^ September 16. — Southampton : Heard
Cardinal Wiseman lecture on ' Self-culture ' at the
Hartley Institute. An Irish priest, he, in general
appearance ; face like a shrewish old woman in
spectacles ; voice tuneless, accent a little mincing.
The substance of the lecture commonplace, the style
tawdry and paltry.

Saturday^ October 3. — Cross by 3 o'clock Boat,
invited to spend Sunday at Mrs. Clough's. Rainy and
roughish. The Coltmans are gone. Mrs. Clough
tells me I am invited to go to the Tennysons with
her to-night. (Hurrah !) We drove to Farringford,
picking up on the way Mr. Pollock (afterwards Sir
F. P.) and his son, a youth in spectacles. Drawing-
room, tea, Mrs. Tennyson in white, I can some-
times scarcely hear her low tones. Mrs. Cameron,
dark, short, sharp-eyed, one hears very distinctly. I
wandered to the book-table, where Tennyson joined
me. He praised Worsley's Odyssey. In a book of

88 FARRINGFORD 1863

Latin versions from his own poetry he found some
sHps in Lord Lyttleton's Latin — ' Cytherea Venus,'
etc. ' Did I find Lymington very dull ? ' I told him
that since coming there I had heard Cardinal Wiseman
lecture (on ' Self-culture '), Spurgeon preach, and seen
Tom Sayers spar. ' More than I have,' he remarked.
In taking leave he said, ' Come to-morrow ! '

Sunday^ October 4. — In the forenoon I walk over
alone to Farringford ; find first Mrs. T., the two boys,
and their tutor, Mr. Butterfield, fair-haired, modest-
mannered. T. at luncheon : ' John Wilson's Life —
leave such things alone ! they're done for money.' —
' Entozoa — germs were mingled in a convict's food,
for experiment ; after his death the parasites were
found stuck all over him inside. Fancy one feeding
on your brain ! ' — ' What do we know of the feelings
of insects ? nothing. They may feel more pain than
we.' I think not.

T. takes me upstairs to his ' den ' on the top-story,
and higher, up a ladder, to the leads. He often comes
up here a-night to look at the heavens. One night he
was watching shooting-stars and tumbled through the
hatchway, falling on the floor below, a height of at
least ten feet I should say. The ladder probably broke
his fall and he was not hurt. I quoted ' A certain star
shot madly from his sphere.'

T. — -' I've never heard any Sea-Maid's music in Fresh-
water Bay, but I saw an old lady swimming one day.'

The view of sea and land is delectable, stretching
northward across the Solent up into the New Forest.
Then we went down and walked about the grounds,
looking at a cedar, a huge fern, an Irish yew. The
dark yew in Maud ' sighing for Lebanon ' he got at
Swainston, — Sir John Simeon's. In one place are some
little arches half-covered with ivy, which I pretend to
believe are meant for mock ruins. This T. repudiates.
He paused at a weed of goatsbeard, saying, ' It shuts
up at three.' Then we went down the garden, past a

,863 LYMINGTON 89

large tangled fig-tree growing in the open — ' It's like
a breaking wave,' says I. ' Not in the least,' says he.
Such contradictions, from him, are noway disagreeable :
and so to the farmyard.

' Have you a particular feeling about a farmyard ^ '
he asked, ' a special delight in it .'' I have. The first
time I read Shakespeare was in a haystack. — Othello —
I said, '* This man's overrated." Boys can't understand
Shakespeare, nor women.' We spoke a little of the
Shakespeare ' Ter-Centenary ' next year.

* Most people pronounce "Arbtitus" wrong, with
the second syllable long. Clematis, too, which should
be Cle-mStis.'

In the porch, or somewhere near it, I noticed a dusty
phial hanging with some dried brown stuff in it. ' It's
a Lar,' he said, with a twinkle in his eyes. ' And what
else is it ? ' I asked. ' An old bottle of Ipecacuanha.'
I thought the woodwork of the windows a rather crude
green : ' I don't know why you shouldn't like it,' he
said. We looked at the great magnolia stretching up
to the roof, then into the hall and saw some fossils.
' Man is so small ! ' he said, ' but a fly on the wheel.'
Mrs. Clough was in the house and she and I now
departed, T. coming with us as far as the little south
postern opening on to the lane, afraid to go further.
He said he was one day pursued full cry along the road
by two fat women and sixteen children ! Another day
he saw a man's face, who had climbed on the outside
fence and was looking over into the garden : ' I said to
him, " It isn't at all pretty of you to be peeping
there! You'd better come down" — and he did.'
' Was he like an educated man } ' ' Yes — or half-
educated.' In parting he said to me, ' We shall see
you sometimes .? ' — which gladdened me.

Mrs. Clough and I dined at Mrs. Cameron's.

Sunday, October 11. — Walk, Boldre, Hay ward Mill,
Common. Gypsies — old woman asks me to look at
her son who is very ill in waggon. I see him, lying

90 LYMINGTON 1863

pale with heavy black eyes and tangled hair, speechless,
has ' lumps in his throat' she says — quinsy ? I promise
to send some one to him if I can. Call on Marshall,
the relieving officer, — ' at church,' leave a letter for him
about the sick gypsy.

Monday^ October 12. — Finish twelfth and last chapter
of Bloomfield and post it.

Saturday^ October 17. — Fine evening. New Forest.
Holmsley, Wilverly Post, heath and woods in front,
russet gold ; rest by a rivulet, thick beech woods,
cottage — the woman says it is unhealthy and very
lonesome —

Under the shade of melancholy boughs.

Two woodpeckers, green as parroquets. The setting
sun, the fiery ferns, the gold beechen-leaves. Lynd-
hurst, bed at Crown.

Sunday^ October 18. — To Rufus's Stone, moorlands
under heavy sky, thick embossment of russet golden
beech-woods filling the vales, blue distance — showers.

How many days of my life I pass without a word of
conversation. But am I not as well off as I deserve to be.''

O days of youthful gladness !

When I, a happy fool,
Thought failure, sickness, sadness,

Th' exception, not the rule.

Monday^ October 19. — News of the gypsy. * Getting
better ; lump broke.' Write to Southampton paper
against cutting down trees in ' the Ditches ' (old moat).

Thursday^ October 22. — I receive proof from i^r/^j^r'i^
Mag. of the twelfth and last chapter of L. Bloom-
field. Eight of the chapters I have written month by
month (missing one month) for the magazine. So fate
would have it. It's not properly compacted as to plan,
and never will be now. But with indefinite time at
command I should most probably, as so often before,
have tried a dozen different shapes and ended by throw-
ing the thing aside. It has good work in it here and
there.

1863 LYMINGTON 91

A story in 5000 lines, -

Where Homer's epic fervour shines.

Philosophy like Plato's —
Alas, I sing of Paddies, Priests,
And Pigs, those unromantic beasts,

Policemen and Potatoes !

Friday^ October 23. — Very fine ; in the New Forest.
Holmsley — path to Burley, field -lane fern -banked,
delightful. Hamlet on its gorsev common, a big oak
among the hollies. Sat down and read Woolner's
Beautiful Lady which the post brought me to-day from
the author. Tender and sweet. Well tastes poetry
thus on a solitary ramble. I remember distinctly every
breathing of the verses which were in the first number
of The Germ, nearly fourteen years ago. Real love of
nature and delicate truth of touch ; with the quaint
guild-mark, so to speak, of the P. R. B. (I can't bear to
be verbally quaint myself, yet often like it in another).

I recollect my lady in a wood.

Keeping her breath and peering — (firm she stood

Her slim shape balanced on tip-toe — )

Into a nest which lay below.

Leaves shadowing her brow.

the breeze
Lifts gold from leaf to leaf, as these
Ash-saplings move at ease.

Thackeray, I recollect, was much touched by Woolner's
poem, and by Hunt's etching to it of the Lover press-
ing his face down upon the new-made grave-mound.
But hopeless grief is too sad a subject for Art, save to
the Young.

Passing a Keeper's lodge, came to the ' Twelve
Apostles,' old oaks, most of them rugged hollow
pillars with a few living branches. Sunset light,
lonely road running through great beech-woods ;
double-dyed with sunset gold : I picture myself attacked
by ruffians, with various denouments. Such things
never do happen in the Forest. The gypsies only beg,
and perhaps filch. Pass Alum Green, the moon rising

92 CHRISTCHURCH 1863

over the hamlet, and strike a dampish forest-path to
Brockenhurst road, where I enter a wayside inn, and
sit comfortably by a great peat-fire, two antlers above
the chimney, drinking beer and reading in Woolner's
book. Home by rail about 8,

I go on studying Old Ballads — (no original lyrics
coming now, alas !) Custom-house daily. Yachts,
steamers, pensioners, accounts, coastguard. Periodical
visits to Pitt's Deep, Buckler's Hard, Keyhaven, and
Hurst Castle, walking or riding. Boat and punt —
sailing, etc. Measuring vessels is the most troublesome
duty, boarding yachts and examining their stores the
most disagreeable.

Sunday^ December 13. — Walk from Lymington to
Christchurch, by cliffs and beach, — mean, straggling
little Town among flat watery fields, by a broad muddy
estuary. It has a huge and striking old gray Church,
part Norman, much decayed, and full of coughs and
rheumatisms for the worshippers, being very unfit for
the Protestant service. At evening service with a
regulation sermon. After which I found, at the east
end under a great window, the cenotaph to Shelley and
Mary, at which I stood looking while the Choir
practised their Christmas anthem in the empty dim-
lighted building.

The monument is of white marble, a woman support-
ing a dead man, life size, very like a Pieta : — odd
jumble of ideas. Bed at Newlyn's Hotel. Stars,
humming wind, frost .?

Next morning, pretty view from a bridge of the
great old Church, ivied ruin and large willow beside it —
everything else very ugly. By train through flooded
meadows to Ringwood, and on to Lymington. ' Good-
man Dodd,' etc. — wrote to my Father.

This man spreads himself out, gives ear to the foolish public,
That man shuts himself in, gives ear to a foolish clique ;
Foolish the public, the cliques, the ignorant ones and the knowing,
Wise the soul of a man who lets all go quietly by.

i863 FARRINGFORD 93

Sunday^ December 20. — I lunched at Farringford.
We all helped in wheeling Mrs. Tennyson to the top
of High Down. Then A. T., the Tutor and myself
walked to Totland's Bay, the talk all upon Classic
Metres, of which he is full at present. I am invited
for Christmas.

Tuesday, December 22. — Feel out of sorts and as it
were stupefied ; write to Mrs. Tennyson declining the
Christmas invitation, which I was so glad to have ! On
the second day after, came a very kind note from
Mrs. T. renewing the invitation, and on the 26th I
went to Farringford. The post brought me a gift of
a purse from Mrs. Clough,

Saturday, December 16. — At Yarmouth I find Mrs.
Cameron shopping, who gives me a seat in her carriage,
and tells me she has a copy of Henry Taylor's
Works for me as a Christmas Box, In a subsequent
examination which she put me through as to my
opinion of H. T.'s poetry I fear my answering fell
decidedly below her expectation, for the Christmas Box
was never given, nor did either of us mention it
afterwards.

At Farringford I find F. T. Palgrave. Tennyson,
he, and I walk up High Down.

Dinner at six, the usual immediate move (with the
wine) to Drawing-room, and talk all about Classic
Metres, to which I naturally have little to contribute,
nor can I see that the discussion throws much if any
light on English metrical effects.

Farringford, Sunday, December 27. — A, T. comes
in to breakfast without greeting, which is sometimes his
way. I play at football with the two Boys. (Hallam
is about eleven, Lionel about nine.) Then walk with
A. T., Palgrave, H. and L. along High Down to the
Needles. Lionel talks to me ; he is odd, shy, sweet,
and, as his mother says, daimonisch. Hallam has
something of a shrewd satirical turn, but with great
good nature. To the cliff edge, then returning we

94 FARRINGFORD 1863

creep up long slopes of down and rest at the Beacon.
Thistles and other growths crouch into the sward
from the fierce sea-winds. I quote ' a wrinkle of the
monstrous hill.' We talk of 'Christabel.' Race down,
I get first to the stile. After dinner more talk of
' Classic Metres ' ; in the drawing-room, T. standing
on the hearth-rug repeated with emphasis (perhaps
apropos of metres) the following lines, in the following
way : —

Higgledy — piggledy, silver and gold,

There's — {ifs nothing very dreadful !)

There's a louse on my back

Seven years old.

He inches, he pinches.

In every part,

And if I could catch him

I'd tearr out his kearrt !

The last line he gave with tragic fury. Prose often
runs into rhyme. T. imitated the waiter in some
old-fashioned tavern calling down to the kitchen —
' Three gravies, two mocks, and a pea ' ! (soup under-
stood). On ' pea ' he raised the tone and prolonged it
very comically.

Farringford^ December 28. — A. T., Palgrave and I
walk to Alum Bay and look at the coloured clifFs,
smeary in effect, like something spilt. A. T. reproves
P. for talking so fast and saying ' of — of — of — of,' etc.
He also corrects me for my pronunciation (or so he
asserts) of ' dew.' ' There's no Jew on the grass ! '
says he — ' there may be dew^ but that's quite another
thing.' He quotes Tom Moore's ' delicious night,'
etc. (four lines), with a little grunt of disapprobation at
the end. Home at four. T. goes to have his hot
bath. I revise Laurence Bloomfield (which Macmiilan
is printing) in the boys' room.

At dinner : Mr. and Mrs. Bradley of Marlborough,
Mr. and Mrs. Butler of Harrow.

In the drawing-room A. T., P., and the two Bs. all
on ' Classic Metres.' T. setting the schoolmasters right

1863 LYMINGTON 95

more than once, I noticed. I asked Mr. Bradley after-
wards, when he called on me at Lymington, did he
think he could read one — any one — of Horace's Odes
as it was intended to be read ? He said he was sure he
could «o/. He has brought into use at Marlborough
the ' new ' pronunciation (Italian vowel sounds K for
C, etc.), which, he says, puzzles himself much more than
the boys. 1 like him much, and wish he were not a
Parson or that Parsonism were a different kind of thing.
I had the ladies all to myself, and we discoursed pro-
foundly on ' poets and practical people,' ' benevolence
true and false,' ' the gulf between certain people and
others,' etc. Mrs. T. confessed herself tired of hearing
about ' Classic Metres.' The company gone, T., P. and
I went to Palgrave's room, where the poet read to us the
' Vision of Sin,' the ' Sea Fairies,' and part of the ' Lotos
Eaters,' — a rich and solemn music, but not at all heavy.
He will not admit that any one save himself can read
aloud his poems properly. He suffered me to try a
passage in the ' Lotos Eaters ' and said ' You do it better
than most people,' then read it himself and went on
some way further. Thus I got from him viva voce
part of a poem which has always seemed to me among
his most characteristic works.

December 29. — After breakfast I took leave of
Mrs. Tennyson and the boys. P. civilly invites me to
his house at York Gate. When I went to T.'s room he
said, ' Come whenever you like,' and as I went out
by the garden he came after me and saw me through
the gate. Truly friendly — a delightful visit ! I walked
to Yarmouth in happy mood and crossed to Lymington
on the steam-boat.

Wednesday^ December 30. — Walked to Pitt's Deep
and visited the Coastguard Station ; returned at dusk,
dirty roads, starry sky. Be content : what folly in a
poor man to wish for an easy life and at the same time
for much that he could only get by hard work.

CHAPTER VI

1864

I HAVE been an ' Official ' all my life, without the least
turn for it. I never could attain a true official manner^
which is highly artificial and handles trifles with
ludicrously disproportionate gravity. True that ordi-
nary men are thus kept in order and the dull work of
the world got through : but for my own part I always
get back to the question, is it really necessary that
men should consume so much of their bodily and
mental energies in the machinery of civilised life ^. The
world seems to me to do much of its toil for that which
is not in any sense bread. Again, does not the latent
feeling that much of their striving is to no purpose
tend to infuse large quantities of sham into men's work ?
In the Government offices, of which I know something
by experience, I believe the clerks could do all they
really do in half the allotted time, and, moreover, that
much of their work when done is itself useless.

January 16, 1864. — Letter from Mrs. Tennyson,
asks me if I know of a house near Lymington that
would suit her Father and Sister (Mrs. Weld). I go to
the house-agents. Aubrey House might do.

January 17. — At Southampton. Arrival of the
Poonah P. & O. steam-ship. People returning from
India, greetings. Ayah on deck. A single one of
these brown slender women with black eyes and
undulatory movements (they must have soft bones),

1864 FARRINGFORD 97

in muslin and gold ornaments, makes all Hindustan
real. How cold she must find this weather. Mail-bags
landed, 340 in number.

February 27. — -Wrote to the Papers proposing to
name the new bridge at Blackfriars ' Shakespeare
Bridge,' — with statues if they Hke. The Blackfriars and
the Globe Theatres stood near this place. A bridge is
the best place in London for statues. In vain. The
Times said it was not an English custom to give the
names of writers to our streets or public places.
Excellent argument. Ballad : ' The Abbot of Inis-
falen.'

March i . — Going on with Ballad Book. ' Grunsey
and Dodd ' appears in Macmillans Magazine this month.

Tuesday y March 22. — Dry haze, groaning east wind,
headache. I now believe the atmosphere with its
changes has much more to do with health and spirits
than I used to think possible. As we go on we find
that many ' old-fashioned notions ' have a good deal in
them. But we had not much east wind at Bally-
shannon. Poem : ' Emily.'

24 to 28. — At Farringford, for an Easter holiday.
Professor Jowett was staying at a neighbouring house
with two Oxford pupils, and came in to Tennyson's
every day. One day T., J., and myself on the shore,
throwing pebbles into the sea. Alas, I fear I have not
set down anything of the conversations. This is
usually the way when there is too much.

A man who keeps a diary pays
Due toll to many tedious days ;
But life becomes eventful — then
His busy hand forgets the pen.
Most books, indeed, are records less
Of fulness than of emptiness.

I recall an interesting talk with Professor Jowett at
Freshwater, one night that I walked with him from
Tennyson's to his lodging at the Terrace. The con-
versation turned to the subject of conventionalities, and

98 ROMSEY 1864

I urged how lamentable it was to see men, and, especi-
ally, distinguished men, accepting in public, or even
actively supporting ideas which they abjured in their
own minds. This was my hobby and I rode it at a pace
that the Professor was probably little accustomed to,
yet he listened and answered not only with patience but
apparent interest, and when we arrived at his door
invited me, somewhat to my surprise, to come in and
continue the conversation, T remember, in a room
dimly lighted with one candle. He seemed to agree with
me in the main, but argued to the effect that by an
open and unguarded non-conformity a man might ruin
his career and lose all influence and authority. I said
in my usual impulsive style — ' Oh, he would find the
apparent obstacles to be only shadows on his road.'
To which J. replied gently, but with a tone of convic-
tion, ' I fear he would find them very real.'

He is a soft smooth round man, with fat soft
hands, and a very gentle voice and manner, but with
no weakness of will or lack of perseverance. He is
extremely cautious, but not in the least cowardly, — can
quietly make his way, doubtless, into very hard
substances, as some very soft creatures do (speaking
without disparagement). J. indeed has publicly shown
great frankness, for an Oxford don, and will be a
reformer ab intra.

I know full well how too impatient I always am,
how too-too lacking in savoir faire. Yet I don't think
I was wrong to speak freely to him, for once. Nay, I
don't see how any thinking man can be at perfect peace
with himself while his public conduct and private belief
are not in agreement. I do not know one English
Writer now living who is consistent. Emerson is : but
supposing he were an Englishman } an absurd supposi-
tion, for Emerson is entirely an American product.

Saturday, April 2. — To Embley Park, Romsey [the
home of Florence Nightingale's parents], invited from
Saturday to Monday. Mrs. Clough is there (she is niece

1864 LYMINGTON 99

of Mrs. N, and cousin of Miss Florence Nightingale).
Large house in a rich park : a rhododendron avenue.
Immense drawing-room. Mr. Nightingale — tall, thin,
courtly, white-haired, with blue swallow- tailed coat
always buttoned ; in manner very quiet and sad. By his
desire I read from In Memoriam one evening, and the
poem seemed to impress him deeply. He and his wife
live alone at the end of their days in this great house.
Florence they never see and rarely, I think, hear from.
She secludes herself in London on the ground of
health and needing all her strength for public interests.
There is a statuette of her in the hall.

April 10. — Walked over to Brooke, Mr. Seely's,
with one of the Camerons, and saw Garibaldi in the
drawing-room, who, understanding me to be a poet,
called me ' mio caro,' and shook hands heartily. He
stood leaning sideways on a stick and looked of shorter
stature than I expected : his face exactly like the
portraits, the image of bravery, sincerity, and goodwill.
I took my leave quickly, as there were numerous
visitors to see the great General.

April 22. — Laurence Bloomfield published, Many
letters and notices of it came to me, mostly favour-
able. The Irishman newspaper calls me ' a mitigated
Whig,' but praises my pictures of the peasantry.

May 16. — Tennyson praises Z. Bloomfield^ and says
it was a very difficult thing to do.

May 23-25. — Visiting Rev. W. Barnes at Came,
Dorchester.

Tuesday^ May 31. — Mr. Gladstone quoted L.
Bloomfield last night in the House of Commons,
describing it, according to the Times report, as an ' ex-
tremely clever work.' The two lines he gave, apropos
of some proposed alteration of the spirit duties, were
these : —

Poor Paddy of all Christian men I think
On basest food pours down the vilest drink.

(Chap. xii. 11. 296-297.)

lOO LONDON 1864

I opened the Times in a news-shop and felt a thrill
at seeing my own words so unexpectedly.

Monday^ June 6. — Very fine. Tennyson and the Boys
come across the Solent to me and we make an excursion
to Beaulieu Abbey. I take them through Walhampton
by the Fir-walk.

Tuesday^ June 7. — Lord Palmerston has recom-
mended me for a Civil List Pension of _^ 60 a year —
' on account of the merit of his poetical writings,'
Serviceable : but do I like it ^ How much rather
would I do without it ! But I have no turn at all for
making money, that's certain, and perhaps I may give
some equivalent.

Saturday^ June 25. — To London. Parker's Hotel —
Surrey St. Georgie Jones and Philip — Lyceum, Hamlet.

Sunday., June 26. — To Warwick Crescent ; Pen
Browning, then enter the great Robert, who greets me
warmly and gives me ' Dramatis Personam.' He com-
mended Bloomfield with reservation — ' Not so poetical
as some of your things — but O so clever.' We talk of
Tennyson, etc.

Down to Chelsea and find D. G. Rossetti paint-
ing a very large young woman, almost a giantess, as
' Venus Verticordia.' I stay for dinner and we talk about
the old P. R. Bs. Enter Fanny, who says something
of W. B. Scott which amuses us. Scott was a dark
hairy man, but after an illness has reappeared quite bald.
Fanny exclaimed, ' O my, Mr. Scott is changed ! He
ain't got a hye-brow or a hye-lash — not a 'air on his
'ead ! ' Rossetti laughed immoderately at this, so that
poor Fanny, good-humoured as she is, pouted at last —
' Well, I know I don't say it right,' and I hushed him
up.

Monday., June 27. — Got down to Chelsea by half-
past eight to D. G. R.'s. Breakfasted in a small lofty
room on first floor with window looking on the garden.
Fanny in white. Then we went into the garden and
lay on the grass, eating strawberries and looking at the

1864 LONDON loi

peacock. F. went to look at the ' chicking/ her plural
of chicken. Then Swinburne came in, and soon began
to recite — a parody on Browning was one thing ; and
after him Whistler, who talked about his own pictures —
Royal Academy — the Chinese painter-girl, Millais, etc.
I went off to Ned Jones's, found Mrs. Ned and Pip,
and F. Burton ; talked of Christianity, Dante, Tenny-
son and Browning, etc. Enter Miss Hill and another
lady, and Val Prinsep.

Wednesday^ June 29. — Dine at Bertolini's. Hay-
market, pit, Sothern in ' David Garrick ' and ' Dun-
dreary Married.'

Thursday^ June 30. — To Warwick Crescent to lunch
with Browning by invitation. Pen plays ' Chopin.' I
say to R, B., ' Did you ever play as well as that ? ' to
which he replied, ' A thousand times as well ! ' We
spoke of Tennyson. T. told B. he thought 'Sludge'
too long. B. answered, ' I hope he thought it too long! '
— that is, Sludge, when the confession was forced from
him. Sludge is Home, the Medium, of whom Brown-
ing told me to-day a great deal that was very amusing.
Having witnessed a seance of Home's, at the house
of a friend of B.'s, Browning was openly called upon to
give his frank opinion on what had passed, in presence
of Home and the company, upon which he declared
with emphasis that so impudent a piece of imposture he
never saw before in all his life, and so took his leave.
Next day Browning's servant came into his room with
a visitor's card, and close behind followed the visitor
himself — no other than Mr. Home, who advanced with
a cordial smile and right hand outstretched in amity.
He bore no ill-will — not he ! Browning looked sternly
at him (as he is very capable of doing) and pointing to
the open door, not far from which is rather a steep
staircase, said — ' If you are not out of that door in
half a minute I'll fling you down the stairs.' Home
attempted some expostulation, but B. moved towards
him, and the Medium disappeared with as much grace

102 LONDON 1864

as he could manage. ' And now comes the best of it
all,' said B. — ' What do you suppose he says of me ?
— You'd never guess. He says to everybody, " How
Browning hates me ! — and how I love him ! " ' He
further explains B.'s animosity as arising out of a
seance at Florence, where a ' spirit-wreath ' was placed
on Mrs. Browning's head, and none on her husband's.

B. spoke of London, parties, theatres, Sullivan,
Gounod, etc. : ' If I could do exactly as I liked I should
often go to an Opera or Play instead of to a party. I
could amuse myself a good deal better. I should
always treat myself to a good place.'

He spoke of his own poems — would rather write
music — longs also to be a sculptor ; 'If one could only
live six hundred years, or have two lives even.' We
went to the Underground Railway, Bishop's Road,
together. ' I am going ' (he said) ' to a house where
the eldest son is dead.'

I walked through the Park to Woolner's in Welbeck
Street, and found not only Woolner, but Tennyson
there (up for some days), and also F. Palgrave.
Woolner is engaged to dine with Novello, and I very
gladly agree to stay and keep Tennyson company.
T., P., and I walk in the Regent's Park, P. goes home.
T. and I dine together. He has the proof sheets of a
new book with him — some flitting notion of calling it
' Idyls of the Hearth ' ? * Gladstone dined here on
Monday ' — Swinburne — Milnes — De Sade — Naked
model — ' the chastest thing I ever saw.' T. said he
must begin to correct his proofs, and with the word
came the sound of a barrel-organ, bringing dismay ! I
took my leave, promising to quash the music, in which
attempt I succeeded, seeing the grinding man well
out of the street, then walked off to 5 Blandford Square,
where I found Barbara L. S. B. and the Doctor,^ and also
Mrs. Clough and Bessie Parkes.

Plenty of friends and talks to-day.

^ Dr. and Madame Bodichon.

1864 LONDON 103

Woolner lifts to the skies a German animal sculptor,
Julius Haenel (43 Pyraneesche Strasse, Dresden), two
or three small bronzes by whom he shows me, and
admirable they are. H. finds it difficult to get money.
Woolner says, ' If Haenel had done the lions in Tra-
falgar Square people would have come from distant
countries to look at them.'

July I. — At the British Museum — Patmore ; he
tells me of his conversion to the Church of Rome and
intended marriage with Miss Byles. We talk of the
Rossettis, etc. (but our intimacy is a thing of the past).
I look at Ballad Books. Dine with Ned Jones and
Georgie (Gt. Russell St.). Little Philip. Picture of Circe.

Saturday^ July 1. — Tom Taylor, friendly as usual,
carries me to luncheon at Lavender Sweep, where are
Mrs. Taylor, her Father, Mr. Cipriani Potter, Miss
Beales. Thence to Macmillan's, for a family dinner,
large house at Balham, * The Elms.' Boys at see-saw in
the garden. Return to the T. T.'s, and with them in
a fly to a musical party at Charles Halle's, Cavendish
Square. Madame H., a French-American, is a pleasant
hostess. Kate Terry, Val Prinsep, Browning, Lady
Annabella King, Sir John Simeon, Miss Cushman,
Madame Parepa, etc. etc.

July 6. — Breakfast at Lord Houghton's, sixteen
guests. He introduces me to Captain Hamilton Aide,
who lives at Lyndhurst. Bishop W^ilberforce, Swin-
burne, Vambery the Hungarian traveller, Hon. Mr.
Stanley (of Alderley), supposed Mohammedan. Vam-
bery speaks, in beautiful English with a slight foreign
accent, of his travels in Central Asia disguised as a
Dervish. If discovered he would have been tortured
to death. A Dervish, he said, must observe the cere-
monies and fasts more strictly than an ordinary
Mohammedan, but he sometimes procures a relaxation
in this way : the Holy Man announces one morning
that he has had a dream^ in which permission has been
given to him to eat, drink, sleep, amuse himself as he

I04 LONDON 1864

likes, for a certain number of days ; and he does so
accordingly, and is considered to be more holy than
ever. The Bishop of Oxford inquired, in his exquisitely
bland tones, ' Is it permitted to an ordinary Mussulman
to have a dream of this nature ? ' To which Vambery
replied, with the grave politeness which characterises
him, ' He might dream, my lord, but no one would pay
attention to it : one must be a Holy Man to have this
privilege,' — at which there was a good deal of laughter.

Vambery's account of his strange experiences was
made the more interesting by frequent interruptions
from Mr. S., who put questions, sometimes in a tone of
no very good breeding, with the view of making him
appear inaccurate, but Vambery always answered with
good temper as well as perfect success. He is going
back to Central Asia. * I hope ' (Lord H. said to
me after breakfast) ' S. won't get him murdered.' I
thought this breakfast very amusing ; Swinburne found
it dreadfully dull.

Thursday^ July 7. — Lunch with Browning : tell him
of the pseudo-Dervish and the English Mohammedan,
which amuses him. He wishes he had been at the
breakfast ; it seems he had an invitation, but too late.
Mr. Robert Lytton comes in — ' Joachim ; Tennyson ;
Browning's new poem in blank verse.' Out with B.

Friday^ July 8. — To Gabriel's, where are Madox
Brown and Webb.

Saturday^ July 9. — D. G. Rossetti and 1 dine at
Hotel de Provence, Leicester Square, then to Opera,
where Taylor has promised us places for ' Mirella.'
Gabriel, who detests music, soon went away ; I remained.

Sunday^ July 10. — E. B. Jones and I to Woolwich
by rail, return by river. Evening, Highgate : The
Howitts, friendly, walk back.

Wednesday^ July 13. — Dined at Tom Taylor's ; Mr.
Story (American Sculptor, who lives in Italy), wife and
daughter, Mr. E. M. Ward ; I next Miss Story, who is
chatty. Joke about the Bishop of Oxford, who told a

1864 LONDON 105

lady he had had himself weighed, just as he came out

of his bath, and was exactly naming the weight.

' With or without soap^ Bishop ? ' asked the lady.
Mrs. Taylor plays. Miss S. sings. Mrs. Story asks
me to call on them at 61 South Audley St.

Friday, July 15. — Dine and sleep at Macmillan's,
Balham. M. says he and his brother Daniel and his
sister used to have better conversations together on
literature than he ever heard since ' from Tennyson and
all the rest of them.' He gave his opinion of Goethe,
which was not high. A pleasant German lady played
the piano well ; we talked of Freiligrath, etc.

Sunday, July 17. — Hot. Browning having written
a note about me to Arthur Sullivan the composer, I
visited the latter to-day. He lives at 27 Claverton
Terrace, Pimlico, and is organist at some church —
perhaps in that neighbourhood. A. S. is short and
tight, with dark complexion and thick curly black hair
parted in the middle. Perhaps partly Jew ^ — a suspicion
confirmed by his Mother's appearance, who is stout
and dark. His Father, a South of Ireland man, is, I
believe, dead.

We talked of Operas and Songs : some notion
floating among us that I might furnish him with words
to set. He thinks Faust the best possible subject
for an Opera, and wishes it had fallen to his lot to set
it. Asks me if I can come to Covent Garden Theatre
on Tuesday evening : he plays the organ in the
Cathedral scene in Faust. I tell the traditionary
story of the origin of the name SulHvan, which seems
to interest him. An Irish Chieftain, famous for
generosity, had one day at his board a Stranger-Guest
— no unusual thing there. After the banquet this
man, who was in truth a bitter enemy, cried aloud, ' A
boon, O Chief! ' < Ask for what thou wilt,' said the
Chief, ' it shall be given thee.'

' Give me thy right eye,' said the other.

And sooner than break his word the Chief plucked

io6 LYMINGTON 1864

out his eye and ordered it to be given to that evil guest.
Henceforward the generous man was called Suil aon^
the One Eyed.

By steamer to London Bridge and rail to Plumstead ;
after some wandering, find the Red House at last in
its rose-garden, and William Morris, and his queenly
wife crowned with her own black hair.

Monday, July 18. — The Red House, y-g- a.m.
Rose-trellis. Jenny and May, bright-eyed, curly-pated.
We hurry to the train. W, M. brusque, careless, with
big shoon. Daldy the Publisher in train, ' Nightingale
Valley.' I call on Samuel Laurence in Wells Street
and see portrait of Leigh Hunt, etc. Then to E. B.
J.'s, Gt. Russell St., where Swinburne comes in later.

Tuesday, July 19. — To S. Laurence's Studio and up
with him to Islington and have tea with his family.
To Covent Garden Theatre and behind the scenes to
Sullivan, watch him playing the organ ; Mr. Gye comes,
and afterwards I have a Stall-chair. Faust — Artot,
etc. Patti in box. (S. has no ideas outside of music.)

July 21. — Back to Lymington. The country looks
delightful, yellow corn, bending orchard boughs.

Monday, August 29. — To Aubrey House, where
Mr. and Mrs. Weld are now settled. It is near
Keyhaven, on the way to Hurst Castle, and has the
cliffs of the Island in full view. Walk back through
the marsh under bright stars.

October 8. — Crossed to Yarmouth in the steamer.
Mrs. Cameron on board and Anthony TroUope and
wife. I sat next Anthony outside the coach to Fresh-
water ; he asked a great many practical questions about
the houses and lands which we drove past — did not
seem interested about Tennyson. Told me he had been
in every parish in Ireland. He put up at Lambert's
Hotel. I to Tennyson's, where a friendly reception.
Macmillan here, also Mr. and Mrs. Pollock, the latter
literary in her talk. Macmillan read aloud ' Boadicea,'
Tennyson at one point interjected, ' What a fine line ! '

i864 BOSCOMBE 107

(I forget what line it was). He also said, ' " Maud " is
wonderful ! '

Monday^ October 10. — Farringford. Cricket with
the two boys. Mrs. Tennyson's Alma Song : ' French-
man, a hand in thine ! ' Poem : ' Dream of a Gate.'

October. — Mrs. Clough being at Bournemouth
invited me to visit her there, and I went over on Friday
the 28 th.

Friday., October 28. — Up at 7 — fog. Drive to
Christchurch, the sun breaking through fog. Enter
the great Priory Church and look at the Shelley
Monument. Call at the gate of Boscombe in passing
and leave Lord Houghton's note of introduction with
my card. After luncheon I walked out to Boscombe
and found Lady Shelley at home — a small lively pleasant
woman, who invited us to dinner for to-morrow.
Dinner-tea at Mrs, Clough's, and then I was left alone
to examine Clough's letters, and MS. lectures on English
Poetry. Mrs. C. wants advice as to what to publish.

Saturday., October 29. — Boscombe. Sir Percy and
Lady Shelley and two sisters of Percy Bysshe Shelley. I
sat between them at dinner, having taken in Shelley's
favourite sister, whose name is spelt ' Hellen.' She was
lively and chatty, and I looked at and listened to her
with great interest. She is tall, very slender, and must
have been graceful and handsome in her youth, I saw,
or fancied, a likeness to Shelley. She was sumptuous
in light purple silk, which became her. She looked
about fifty-six, but must be much more. Her sister,
who seemed rather younger, was much less lively,
Tennyson's name occurring in conversation. Miss
Hellen Shelley let it plainly appear that neither he nor
any modern poet was of the least interest in her
eyes.

' After Shelley, Byron, and Scott, you know,' she said
to me, ' one cannot care about other poets,'

Somebody had once read to her a poem of Tenny-
son's, which she liked, but she could not remember

io8 BOSCOMBE 1864

what it was. It seemed doubtful that she had ever
heard of Browning.

Mr. Grantley Berkeley at dinner — a tall strong
man over sixty, like a militaire. He lives in this
neighbourhood on small means, is a great sportsman,
and his talk worth listening to on the habits of animals,
etc. He doubts whether there is such a disease as
hydrophobia — thinks most or all of the deaths may be
due to the effects of a punctured wound or diseased
blood, helped by fright. Says he can't walk as he used
to do — ' My feet stick to the ground.' Describes a
quarrel with a game-keeper, in which he threw the man,
who was insolent, into the river. He is off-hand and
pleasant to talk to, enjoys society and private theatricals.
In the drawing-room we found Miss Hellen Shelley
stretched on a sofa, with two dainty white satin shoes
with rosettes peeping beyond the purple robe, and
looking really elegant. Her recollections of Leigh
Hunt were not of a friendly sort, so I did not pursue
the subject. She always speaks of her brother as
' Bysshe.' A young lady sung an Italian song. I came
away about 10. Sir Percy Florence Shelley is a rather
short, fair and fattish man of forty-five. The nose, which
is like his mother's, projects when seen in profile, but
the front face is roundish and smooth, with small eyes,
and a bald forehead over which the pale light-brown
hair is partly drawn. His voice is very quiet but in a
high key (the only point reminding one of his father),
his words few, and whole manner placid, and even
apathetic. He likes yachting and private theatricals,
cares little or nothing for poetry or literature. He has
a thinly -humorous, lounging, self-possessed, quietly
contemptuous manner of comment and narration.
When I mentioned Tennyson's poetry. Sir Percy said
fellows had bored him a good deal with it at one time.
He never read any of it of his own accord — saw no
sense in it.

Sunday^ October 30. — A good while to-day over

1864 LYMINGTON 109

Clough's letters : strange feeling, reading the private
letters of a man whom you knew. Walked alone at
twilight up the valley and through groves, then back
to dinner-tea,

Monday^ October 3 1 . — Fine, chilly. Return from
Bournemouth to Lymington. Walk with George
St. Barbe to Boldre Church, He knows Grantley
Berkeley, and has gone otter-hunting with him.

Tuesday^ November i, — Rev. Wm. Barnes comes on
my invitation to give a lecture at the Literary Institution.
He duly arrives by train at 3, and I gladly welcome
the good old poet. We walk about the Town and
he shows much interest in the Furniture Brokers' shops,
old china, pictures, etc. — and bargains for a little oil-
painting. Aide arrives, whom I have invited to meet
Barnes, I take them for a walk to Buckland Rings,
supposed ancient British Camp ; then dinner at my
lodging (which I hope went off tolerably), and we
moved to the Lecture Room. Mr. Barnes lectured on
' West of England Speech,' and read some of his own
poems. What the audience liked best was ' A Bit o'
Sly Coortin',' which he gave at my particular request.
It was evident that on the whole he seemed to them
flat, in comparison with the paid Entertainers who
occasionally come round. Aide came back to sup with
us at my rooms, and then drove off to Lyndhurst,
Barnes promising to visit him there. B. and I chatted
till near i.

Wednesday^ November 2, — Wm. Barnes ; he praised
my Stratford-on-Avon dialogue, suggested some points
of dialect, but does not understand the Warwickshire.
I saw him into the train at 1.40. A man of simple
manners and virtuous life, and a true poet. Though he
is so much my elder, I was one of the first to make a
stir about him, in talk and by the Press. The Brownings,
Tennyson, Clough, Rossetti, etc. etc. — it was I who
introduced Barnes's Dorset Poems to each and all of
them. •

no LYMINGTON 1864

I met in the street old ' Lawyer M.,' who said he
had been at the lecture last night, and ' thought it
the damnedest stuff he ever heard,' to which I made
brief reply.

Dined at Captain Mildmay's. Lord Eversley (bland
and courtly), Miss Shaw Lefevre, Mr. and Mrs. De la
Tour, Mr. Cornwallis West (heavy swell), etc., fine
dinner, powdered lacqueys. Mrs. Mildmay plays well
on the concertina ; Mrs. De la Tour sings ; Chat to
her and Miss Mildmay — Show them Astrologer's Bill,
etc. etc. The only bit of conversation I gleaned from
the late Speaker (Lord E.) was this : helping himself
to a lump of ice after dinner, he turned to me smiling
and said, with great grace of manner — ' Ice, I think,
is agreeable at all seasons.'

Saturday^ November 5. — To Aubrey House, where is
now settled old Mr. Sellwood (father of Mrs. Tennyson,
Mrs. Weld, and Mrs. Tennyson-Turner). He is tallish,
very thin, with white hair and beard. He was a con-
fidential Family-Solicitor of the old school, at Horncastle
in Lincolnshire. Weld (once Secretary to the Royal
Society) is a bit of a sportsman, is away from his family
a good deal, and writes slight books of travel — a
Summer here, a Winter there.

December 7. — To Forest Bank, to meet Barnes.
Aide sends carriage to Brockenhurst. At dinner Mrs.
Craufurd, Miss Burrard. Mr. Weld mentioned : I
describe him as ' geographically restless,' which amuses
them.

CHAPTER VII

1865

Monday^ January 2. — Proofs of my book, Fifty Modern
Poems^ from Bell and Daldy.

Wednesday, January 3. — Newman's Apologia and
his portrait ; the narrow refined bookish man. Does
all this about Oxford and the Fathers, etc. etc., really
matter .?

Thursday, January 5. — ' The Dial ' American Maga-
zine. I don't like mock- Emersonianism. Balzac's
Ursula ; is he an honest writer .? Droll correspondence
with E. B. Jones, who wrote me a letter from a sham
' Mary Jane,' admirer of my poetry, enclosing her
photograph. I replied to Mary Jane, and enclosed it
to the care of E. B. J. His rejoinder. Carlyle's
Fredk., Vol. IV. — Swedenborg.

Monday, January 23. — At Farringford. Breakfast.
A. T. says my poems are * cleaner cut ' than most.

' Are you going away .'' '

' Yes.'

' You'd think it graceful of me to stay with you
now .? '

I assured him I wished him to do exactly as he
liked.

' Stay till three ' ; but I could not, so bade him
Good-bye. He asked me about E. B. Jones and said
he should like to know him better.

Mrs. T. tells me that her father likes Aubrey House.

112 LYMINGTON 1S65

January 28. — I accept invitation to lecture in Dublin,
in May, on Poetry.

February 20. — Weld calls ; tells me that Woolner
is at Farringford.

Wednesday ^ March 8. — Woolner comes across from
Island in the 1.30 steamer, I meet him and go
on to Brockenhurst Church and show him the Old
Yew and Oak, with which he is well pleased and
promises to come down and visit me. I walk into the
Forest by Ladycross, get into swamp and have to try
back. Shower of sleet. Ruined cottage with two yews
beside it ; meet Under-Gamekeeper, who tells me he
lived in that old place twenty-one years ; has seven
children ; is now in a new cottage.

' Which do you like best ? '

' I'd sooner be hanged at the Old Cottage than die
a natural death at the other ! ' — an odd way of express-
ing his feeling.

Heathy Dilton, farmyard, wood and ferns, Royden
Bridge, Boldre and Lymington. Dine at G. St. B.'s,
afterwards play Pope Joan and win is. Found it dull.
Conversation in the country always purely local.

Buckle, Vol. I. Madox Brown sends ticket and
catalogue for his Exhibition.

Thursday^ April 6. — To Farringford — luncheon ; I
praise the beauty of some trees, and A, T. comes out
to look at them ; ventures round the corner, and we
call at the Camerons'. I walk back to Yarmouth, and
when near the bridge meet the two Miss Thackerays, who
have just landed on the Island and are walking to Fresh-
water. I tell them the way, which is rather puzzling.

Saturday^ April 8. — To Freshwater: a colony: the
Miss Thackerays, the Prinseps, G. F. Watts, Miss
Stephen, Mrs. Baine, etc.

Thursday^ April 13. — To Salisbury; 14th, Stone-
henge ; 15th, Wilton, etc. ; i6th, Salisbury, Romsey.
I have described this tour in a ' Ramble.'

Friday^ May 12. — Leave from the Customs. Train

i865 DUBLIN 113

to London. Talk with a fellow-passenger, who is much
in rich men's houses — Lord Ashley's, Lord Palmerston's,
etc., now going to Windsor Castle ; a House Decorator.
He says Tradesmen's Bills for the Royal Family are
always very closely looked into — a good example.
Euston Hotel, Princess's Theatre, Arrah-na-Pogue ;
the Irishism of it melts me, and especially Boucicault's
singing of * The Wearing of the Green,' which I hear
was prohibited by the authorities in Dublin on account
of the wild excitement it caused in the theatre. The
Irish dancers good.

Saturday^ May 13. — Euston to Chester, carriage
all to myself, read. At Chester came in a family
of foreigners, puzzling people. French } No. They
were highly conversable, and proved to be Signer
Quaglieni, an Italian, proprietor of a large circus now
about to open for the season in Dublin, and part of his
company, viz. his wife and several children, married
daughter with baby, and his son-in-law, whom he intro-
duced to me as ' a great man — enorme ! ' He is the
chief equestrian, I understood. They have been at
Brescia and other Italian towns, Vienna, Constantinople.
We had a good crossing to Kingston, steamer very
steady. We stayed on deck. Like most show-folk,
the circus people seemed happy enough, and on good
terms among themselves. One of the little girls, taking
slight hold of a man's hand, sprang on a post with
professional agility.

I am to be guest of my good friends Mr. and Mrs.
Samuel Ferguson. They are both out on my arrival,
and on their return give me a most warm and hos-
pitable reception.

Friday, May 19. — Dublin. Car with S. F. to
Stephen's Green — ' Chemical Preparation Room ' (jokes
about that). Introduced to chairman. Dr. E. Kennedy,
and committee, then march through door and find
myself in lecture-room, as depicted by S. F. Look
over audience and see people I know, but take no

114 DUBLIN 1865

special note of any. After the chairman's introduction,
I read my lecture on Poetry for an hour, but often
departing from the written text into more colloquial
forms. I made no stumbles and felt no sensations of
fear, depression, elation, or any other sort. This I find
satisfactory to remember, and put along with some other
personal experiences as indicating character — such as,
the falling of a firework into a straw-yard and my
immediately climbing the wall and putting it out ; the
defending myself against two dogs, one a bloodhound,
in a solitary warren ; the recovery from a sudden qualm
on the scaffolding of a tower. The quality of coolness,
presence of mind, when face to face with occasion, can
only be discovered by trial, and it is agreeable to know
or believe that one possesses it. As long as a question
is open for decision I can be as vacillating as any one
alive.

Monday^ May 22. — Call at Ferguson's — invitation
from Petrie. I dine at the Ship Tavern, Abbey St.,
and go with my cousin David and two young ladies to
Quaglieni's Circus, first to promenade then to reserved
seats. A handsome circus and good performance. I
have the honour of a personal greeting from the Signor
and some of the ladies of the company. His son-in-
law is clown. David and I drive out to Seafield and
have supper.

Tuesday 23. — Clontarf — Capel St., etc. Dine at
Petrie's : ^ his four daughters. Miss Green, Samuel
Ferguson.

Petrie says, ' College men are not those who do fine
original things.' Irish music ; violin, G. P., pianoforte,
Miss Petrie, delightfully expressive playing. S, F.,
strange to say, has no feeling whatever for music. I
write my name in Bloomfield and Fifty Modern Poems.
Walk with Samuel Ferguson to Earl Street, and take
a car to Seafield : its driver happens to be one Murphy,

^ George Petrie, antiquarian and musician, for whom Allingham had a
great affection and admiration.

1865 DUBLIN 115

formerly in the Revenue Police at Ballyshannon. He
told me he drove ' Brown of Killybegs ' lately, and
how rejoiced Brown was to meet him. Brown was an
illicit distiller, and on one occasion Murphy fired a
musket ball through his hat.

Wednesday, May 24. — Move from Clontarf to the
Verdon Hotel. Call at Capel St. and see Mr. Dan
Brett, his legs swollen, sad, — novel reading his only
pleasure. Boys read stories, old people read novels,
the first curious about life, the second weary of it.

To Miss Allen's, West Row, and am photographed ;
Miss A. talkative, tallish, good-looking. Call at
Wilde's, and drive with him as far as Hospital, where
a patient is waiting for him — 'to have his eyelids
chopped oiF.' There is no doubt but surgeons enjoy
operating, and were it otherwise what tortures would
not surgeons suffer, and would they be able to do the
needful work so well ^

N.B. — They are sometimes accused or suspected of
doing things which are not needful. Wilde was lately
in London ; praised the doctors there for ability —
adding, ' but we have plenty of fun and hlagardin
among us here ' — are not so stiff and stuck up, he
meant.

At Verdon Hotel, Catholic Bishop, M'^Gettigan —
greets me warmly and asks me to dine with him, which
I have to decline. Compliments about Bloomfield
(which contains, by the by, a sketch of him). The
hotel people are impressed by the Bishop's attentions
to me. He is a tall, very comely man, with a pleasant
brogue and simple manners — speaks and preaches in
Irish ad lib. A good man — if he were only not a
Bishop !

Friday, May 26. — Dublin. Started by rail for
Enniskillen at half-past eight. In my carriage a man
going to Canada ; we talk about Darcy M'Gee, etc.
He had only just time to catch the Canadian Steamer
in Lough Foyle, but at Dundalk Junction the Derry

1 1 6 BALLYSHANNON 1865

train went off without him, for which the railway
people's stupidity was chiefly blamable. I gave him my
card and promised to testify in writing to that effect.

To Enniskillen by Steamer down the lake to Belleek,
about 25 miles, then by 'Bus to Ballyshannon, and find
myself ' at home ' once more — among old faces and
places ; my Father appearing tolerably well for him,
and cheerful, though now over seventy. He drank
my health after dinner. Countless greetings from
friends.

Saturday^ May 27. — Ballyshannon — rainy — my
Father poorly. I sit with him and write letters. Little
Stewart Johnston, Jane's son. Dr. Sheil, Wm. Lipsett,
etc. Walk to the Abbey graveyard — is the ivy which
I planted growing ^ My bedroom is out in the yard,
a stable-loft adapted, ladder at one end, window, with-
out glass, at the other, with rustic back-gardens beneath,
and the blue head of Slieve League visible many miles
away. A long room, uncarpeted, with slanting roof.
I like it : no noises or bothers.

May 30. — Dinner, trout. Down the Mall, pool
filled, beautiful, tide in, salmon-boat hauling in the
Pool, always interesting. Chat with numerous friends
of all classes.

May 31. — Walk in the garden at midnight and
hear corncrake.

June I. — My old nurse, Madge McNulty, to whom
I am always ' Master Willy,' and indeed to most
people here. Jack McN. (who partly sat for ' Jack
Doran ')}

Friday, June 2. — To Bundoran. Uncle Edward's.
Visit Mrs. Tomes.

June 11. — Left old Ballyshannon for Dublin, taking
kindly leave of everybody. I don't think I have any
enemies hereabouts. My Father and I have been on
affectionate terms all the time.

Thursday, June 15. — Dublin to London.

^ One of the characters in Laurence Eloomfield.

1865 FARRINGFORD 117

Monday^ June 19. — London to Lymington. Lym-
ington looks very pretty, and the view from my
windows in Prospect Place is delightful. I send ' Home-
ward Bound' to Dalziel for his book.

June 23. — Very fine. Walk to Aubrey House,
Mrs. Weld, Agnes ; boat to Hurst Castle, the Jersey
steamer passes ; fortifications, shingle poppies. Dinner-
tea. Mr. Selwood — pleasant day — walk home by
field-paths under the stars.

Saturday^ June 24. — After Custom-House, steamer
to Island. Farringford, hid my bag — find some people
in the hay -field and Mrs. Cameron photographing
everybody like mad.

Went to house : A. T. says, ' Are you come to
stay } ' I confess the bag and we go to fetch it. Mrs.
Cameron focuses me, but it proves a failure and I
decline further operations. She thinks it a great
honour to be done by her. Dress for dinner. Mr.
King, the publisher, at dinner and Mrs. King. Talk
of Ireland, — -Petrie and other men, of whom A. T.
hardly knows the existence. The cholera. T.'s den
at top of house ; smoking, — Public Schools, Charter-
house, etc., effect of a few bad boys on the rest —
Tupper — Swinburne. The Kings take leave, are at
the Albion Hotel. I sit reading and A. T. comes
down to me,

Farringford^ Sunday^ June 25. — Fine — at breakfast
A. T. with his letters, one from D. of Argyll. Swin-
burne— Venables. Out and meet the Kings — Mrs.
Cameron. Return to Farringford. Dinner (which is
at 6.30 always). Sitting at claret in the drawing-room
we see the evening sunlight on the landscape. I go to
the top of the house alone ; have a strong sense of
being in Tennyson's ; green summer, ruddy light in
the sky. When I came down to drawing-room found
A. T. with a book in his hand ; the Kings expectant.
He accosted me, ' AUingham, would it disgust you if
I read " Maud " } W^ould you expire ? '

ii8 FARRINGFORD 1865

I gave a satisfactory reply and he accordingly read
' Maud ' all through, with some additions recently made.
His interpolated comments very amusing.

' This is what was called namby-pamby ! ' — ' That's
wonderfully fine ! ' — ' That was very hard to read ;
could you have read it ? I don't think so.'

What strikes me most in ' Maud ' this time, as always,
is the section beginning, ' O that 'twere possible after
long grief and pain.' It contains the germ of the whole^
and was written many years ago.

Upstairs, talk of Poe. I praise Emerson, to which
T. rather demurs but says little. By and by he asks
me to lend him Emerson's books, which I will gladly
do. I feel his naturalness much.

Monday^ June 26. — Cloudy. Farringford. A. T.
last night intended to come across with me and let me
show him some places. Now, at breakfast time, he
can't make up his mind.

The Queen is liberal minded, she thinks Churchmen
are in the way to ruin the Church by bigotry — likes
droll stories — story of great fire and little fire to burn
doll — When T. visited her she curtseyed very low in
receiving him — was there anything particular in this.^

Another Majesty, Dowager Queen Emma of the
Sandwich Islands, is expected soon on a visit to
Farringford.

Saturday^ July 29. — To Farringford. After dinner
T. spoke of boys catching butterflies.

' Why cut short their lives } — What are we ? We
are the merest moths. Look at that hill ' (pointing to
the one before the large window), ' it's four hundred
millions of years old ; — think of that ! Let the moths
have their little lives.'

Speaking of the Colonies, he said, ' England ought
to keep her colonies and draw them closer. She ought
to have their representatives sitting in London, either
in or in connection with the Imperial Parliament.'

Tennyson is always well at sea. ' To own a ship, a

1865 FARRINGFORD 119

large steam-yacht,' he said, ' and go round the world —
that's my notion of glory.'

Of the Norwegian waterfalls he said, ' I never was
satisfied with water before. On the voyage out, stand-
ing at the door of the deck cabin, I saw a moving hill
of water pass the side of the ship. I got on the top of
the cabin, and saw the sea like a mountainous country,
all hill and valley, with foam for snow on the summits ;
— the finest thing I ever saw.'

Tennyson loathed the necessity, which he fancied
himself under, of writing for money, ' The fine thing
would be to have a good hereditary estate and a love
of literature.' Of the expenses of land-owning he said,
'it costs ^100 an acre, and brings in nothing yet.'

T. said he had read part of Carlyle's Frederick till
he came to, ' they did not strive to build the lofty
rhyme,' and then flung the book into a corner.

He read some extracts in the Spectator about poetry,
and referred to Carlyle's contemptuous way of speaking
of poets, saying, ' We are all tadpoles in a pool, one a
little larger or smaller than others ! ' How differently
Goethe would have spoken of this minor poet : ' he
was useful in his own time and degree.' — See MS. in
' Minor Poets.'

' I was at an hotel in Covent Garden, and went out
one morning for a walk in the Piazza. A man met
me, tolerably well - dressed but battered - looking. I
never saw him before that I know of. He pulled off
his hat and said, " Beg pardon, Mr. Tennyson, might I
say a word to you.?" I stopped. "I've been drunk
for three days and I want to make a solemn promise to
you, Mr. Tennyson, that I won't do so any more." I
said that was a good resolve, and I hoped he would keep
it. He said, " I promise you I will, Mr. Tennyson," and
added, " Might I shake your hand ? " I shook hands
with him, and he thanked me and went on his way.'

Thursday, August 10. — Steamer to Ryde, Spithead,
ships of war. Ryde pier, rich idlers, white shoes,

I20 LYMINGTON 1865

yachts' boats. Steep streets, photographers, libraries,
fruiterers, hotels. Old town, country road, man
mowing barley. Sun Inn, old fashioned, cold meat and
ale. Portrait of Ellen Terry on the wall ; I say to
girl who waits (the landlady's daughter), ' I know who
that is.' Says she to me, ' Yes, it's Mrs. Watts — she's
staying here ' ; which much surprised me.

It seems she used to put up here in old times, when
playing at the Ryde Theatre, and now, being married
— and separated — she goes about by herself from place
to place, and has come for a while to her friendly old
quarters. She gave them this likeness on some former
visit. I was in hope of seeing her fair face again, but
she was gone to Sandown for the day.

Mem. — The privileges granted to Pleasure Yachts
appear to me utterly absurd and unjust. They pay no
lighthouse dues, no Port or Harbour Dues, no fees on
engaging or discharging men, all of which must be paid
by every merchant vessel. They are allowed to have
their 'stores' of dutiable goods, wine, tobacco, etc.,
free of duty. So are merchant vessels, but on over-sea
voyages only, and in restricted measure. Why should
the rich owners of Pleasure Yachts be thus favoured }
The only reason I have heard given is that yachting is
a ' nursery for the Navy.' Is it .?

There are at least 7000 men and boys, all picked,
engaged in Yachts. From all I have observed and
heard here on the Solent, the most Yachtish piece of
water in the world, nobody that can possibly help it
ever goes from the idler and better paid Yachting
into either the Navy or the Merchant Service. The
gentlemen in livery who abound in Rotten Row and
elsewhere might almost as well be supposed a nursery
for the Army as yachting a nursery for the Navy.

Sunday., August 6. — Lonely. Walk, field -path,
Pennington Farm, standing corn. Ditch crowded with
wild-flowers. Would I had a companion !

August 14. — Sunny. Yacht Pilgrim — the monkey

1865 LYMINGTON 121

— am shown the young Millionaire's sea-journal and
observe such spelling as, ' addopt,' * to or three,'
* oceant,' — but of course he may spell as he likes.

Wednesday^ August 16. — Headache, depressed.
Walk to Aubrey House, meet Captain Barton, pleasant
friendly man ; he has a turn for languages ; has lived
near Buda, and knows Hungarian. Charles Tennyson
Turner, like Alfred, though of shorter stature. Manner
peculiar to the family, at once dignified, odd, very easy
and natural ! Way of speaking odd but distinct, and
the phraseology always original. Enter C. R. Weld
with fishing tackle and one trout, — talk on Natural
History — terrible to be attacked by an Eagle, ' like a
flying bulldog,' I say : ' Couldn't be anything much
worse than that,' says C. T. T. I like him much, and
we seem to take to each other.

Thursday^ August 31. — Steamer Solent to Portsmouth
to see the French Fleet now at Spithead, Solferino
and other iron-clads, black brutal hulks. We carry a
tricolour and cheer the French ships in passing.

Friday^ September i. — Very fine. C. House, pay
pensioners, then hurry off to Gosport to see more of
the French invasion ! High Street. A pleasant boatman
rows me past the old Victory to La Reine Hor tense
(curious juxtaposition !) moored in the middle of
Portsmouth Harbour, and I board and look through
the Imperial ship, bedrooms and all, shown round by
a polite young Frenchman, of what rank I know not.
When I thanked him at parting he replied, ' Pour
rien, M'sieur ' ! — exact equivalent of the Irish phrase
in similar case, ' I'm much obliged to you, Pat ' —
' Nothing, sir.'

Portsmouth Hard — Oueen St., etc., crowds, taverns,
French and English sailors drunk together, some arm-
in-arm, mutually friendly and unintelligible. The
French turn up their straw hats all round. 1 said to old
boatman, ' They look pretty much like English sailors.'
He : ' Ah ! they tries to come as near us as they can ! '

122 LYMINGTON 1865

Illuminations, crowds, noise. Queer bedroom atop of
a house — sleep I don't know how. (The world-wide
miracle of Sleep.)

Monday^ September 11. — Cloudy but warm — Institu-
tion— take the chair at ' Penny Reading ' : any use .''
The people prefer rubbish. Linden arcade, brown
half-moon low in the east — mind ill at ease.

From thirty-five to forty-five
'Tis sometimes hard to keep alive,
Hopes are dying — when they're dead,
Joys are flying — when they're fled,
Perhaps we can be comforted.

Thursday^ September 14. — Fine, warm, windy. Trip
in steamer. On board a blind man singing to a
harmonium played by a woman : ' Became blind at
fifteen.' ' Those feel it less who are born blind,' I
suggested. ' Perhaps,' he answered, ' but I am glad to
have seen the world' We ran past the Needles, touched
at Bournemouth Pier and took in new passengers, then
came the cliffs of Swanage Bay, the Old Harry rock,
with tossing and sea-sickness. Landed at Swanage, an
out-of-the-world place, houses roofed with large gray
stones, narrow crooked street. Many stone-masons
here. Beyond, a valley with trees and brook. Lunched
at ' The Ship,' kept by Mrs. Diddlecomb, and back to
steamer — more tossing and discomfort, of which I had
a little.

On deck made friends with a quick bright Boy of
seven, whose father sat grave and silent reading letters
in a female hand. Boy and I talked oceans of nonsense.
Passengers got out at Bournemouth and Yarmouth ;
then we ran for Lymington by starlight, missed the
channel, and stuck in the mud. We had to land by
boat, some of the women frightened ; one, a smooth
fair woman, ' going to Leicester to-morrow,' threw her
arms round me, which was some compensation. The
oars sparkled as they dipped. Landed at the Bath, with
wet feet ; to Custom-House, and home to dinner.

1865 LYMINGTON 123

September 20. — Walked to Aubrey. Met a poor
looking woman who asked, ' How far to Lymington ? '
I answered, ' half a mile,' saw she looked very tired and
questioned her. Says she has walked twenty-two miles
to-day, on her way from Portland, where she has been
to see her son, who is in the Convict Prison (for theft).

' My poor boy ! it wasn't altogether his fault, — he
fell into bad company — he has got three years. He got
the Governor's order for me to see him — he wouldn't
have asked for it if he had known how bad-off I was.
I walked down from London to see him, and now I'm
walking back. I saw him for about half an hour, in a
cage as you might sav.'

I fully believed her and gave her something, for
which she was very grateful.

' God return it to you ! '

What women suffer from husbands, and from
children !

September 23. — Warm and bright — walk in Forest,
but without enjoyment — my thoughts astray.

September 27. — Old Mr. Rice's death-bed — asks to
see me and takes leave of me — the feeble white face of
a once strong man. The Reverend Mr. W. comes
and, he gone, I return for a moment. ' Have you
anything to say to me, Mr. Rice } ' — ' No.'

A quiet silent man (employed in Portsmouth
Harbour in youth — afterwards rope-spinner by trade),
who has gone steadily and I believe honestly along his
humble track in life. He is over threescore and ten,
his old wife is gone before him, his family are grown
up (three of his sons are masters of yachts, one keeps
a tavern), almost all his bodily powers have ebbed away,
tho' his mind seems unaltered.

' What should the Old Man do but die } ' He is
entirely content it should be so, and has nothing to say
about it.

September 30. — Cross to Island. Mrs. Cameron on
board, with heaps of photographs. To Farringford after

124 LYMINGTON 1865

5 o'clock, come in at the tail of a ' drawing-room ' in
honour of Queen Emma of the Sandwich Islands, to
whom I am presented — middle sized or rather less,
pleasant face, with black hair and dusky complexion.
(Her grandfather an English or American sailor ?)
Several parsons and parsonesses present. A few words
with Tennyson, who asks me if I will come for a
walk to-morrow. Drive with Lionel in ponychaise
down to the shore, then good-bye, and walk away,
lonely. Rasher at Inn. Out by moonlight, little bay,
chalk cliffs, moonshine on the sea.

Thursday^ October 5. — Walked up and down Lyming-
ton High Street and examined the forms of the separate
houses — some seventeenth — most eighteenth century }
One may live long in a town and never do this. Old
bricken chimneys are often beautiful, — new, in the same
class of buildings, never.

Where did the good taste, or instructive rightness,
in former days come from } — and whither has it fled }

Saturday^ October 7. — Decline St. B.'s dinner — walk
to Buckland, new green sprays, — short second Spring,
on Winter's edge.

Has anybody walked habitually alone as much as I }
Many, doubtless, — but none that I know. And who
fonder of congenial company }

October 13. — To Lyndhurst and visit Miss Dickson
at her new house 'The Bird's Nest.' Miss D., quick
and pleasant in talk — writes music (as ' Dolores ') and
sings her own songs very sweetly in a small voice.
Her setting of Tennyson's ' Brook ' is enormously
popular and has brought hundreds of pounds to the
publishers: she has got about ^\q by it altogether.
But (they would argue) it was a speculation, and the
success has helped her name.

Thursday^ 19. — Death of Lord Palmerston (he did me
a good turn), G. St. Barbe has told me about P. riding
over sometimes from Broadlands to the New Forest
Hunt, never wore an outside coat in any weather, at

i865 LONDON 125

most turned up his collar. Generally liked, I should
guess, and a good deal trusted — without exciting any
enthusiasm.

To Farringford. Tennyson has been visiting Weimar,
which he declares to be ' the most interesting place in
Europe.'

He saw there (as I did) kind James Marshall, the
Grand Duchess's private secretary, and through him
Goethe's House, etc.

' I touched Goethe's coffin,' said Tennyson, ' and I
thought of you then ' (looking at me).

I felt this as a very great compliment. Miss Simeon
asked, ' Why did you think of Mr. Allingham ^ '
T. — ' You ignorant maid ! don't you know his
beautiful little poem about Weimar } '

Friday, October 27. — To London. At E. B. J.'s, 41
Kensington Square. Rain. In driving from Waterloo
past Westminster Abbey saw crowd of people with
umbrellas — Lord Palmerston's funeral.

Saturday, October 28. — 41 Kensington Square —
two studios. ' Zephyr carrying Psyche ' — delightful
— precipice, green valley, Love's curly little castle
below. Designs of' St. George and Dragon.' Drawings
of Heads. Circe (a-doing), she stretching her arm
across.

Go to see Chang the Chinese Giant, and meet Lord
Houghton there, always friendly, invites me to come
with him on Sunday to Westminster Abbey to hear
funeral sermon on Palmerston — to call for him at the
Athenaeum Club. Mrs. Chang. The Dwarf, queer little
toad. Dine at Bertolini's.

Sunday, October 29. — With Lord Houghton to
Westminster Abbey.

He took me to the Deanery and introduced me to
Dean Stanley and Lady Augusta ; three or four others
were present. After a few minutes we moved to the
Abbey, entering by a special door ; the Dean went his
own way, and our party was taken in charge by a

126 LYMINGTON 1865

special verger, who marched before us with his silver
staif and ushered us to seats in front of the pulpit. I
imagined myself for the time Marquis of Ballyshannon.
Dean S., looking in his skull-cap a hundred years old,
preached his funeral sermon on Lord Palmerston. He
made no pretence of giving any religious colour to it,
praised P.'s honour, courage, cheerful good sense, ' In
trying circumstances he never took fright,' said the
Dean, ' never was flurried, never desponded,' and so on.

We went out by one of the public doors, like
ordinary minor Christians.

Tuesday^ October 31. — Lymington, showers. Rev.
WilUam Barnes comes to me by invitation. I go up
from the Custom-House and find him sitting by my fire
in Prospect Place. We dine at 6.30 : to the Literary
Institution, where B. lectures on House and House-Life
— caves, huts, tents, etc.. Wives (laughter), Praise of the
good wife, — Odd lecture, rather puzzled everybody.
Had Dr. Adams and Doman to meet Barnes at supper.

Wednesday ^Novemher i. — Breakfast — Barnes. Showed
him the Ancient Laws of Ireland^ and read him some
of Gammer Gurtons Needle^ which he did not know
before. Both books interested him. Custom-House,
pay pensioners. Barnes has been invited to go with
me to Farringford, and we cross to Yarmouth, nearly
fouling a collier on the way.

B.'s old-fashioned ways, his gaiters, his long knitted
purse which he ties up in a knot, broad brimmed hat,
homely speech.

We drive in a fly to Farringford, where T., Mrs.
T., Miss T. meet us in the hall. T. and B. at once on
easy terms, having simple poetic minds and mutual
goodwill. Talk of Ancient Britons, barrows, roads,
etc. I to upper room and dress, T. comes in to me
and we go down together. Dinner : stories of ghosts
and dreams. To drawing-room as usual, where T.
has his port, B. no wine. T. says : ' modern fame
is nothing : I'd rather have an acre of land. I shall go

1865 FARRINGFORD 127

down, down ! I am up now.' T. went upstairs by
himself.

Tea : enter Mrs, Cameron (in a funny red open-
work shawl) with two of her boys. T. reappears, and
Mrs. C. shows a small firework toy called ' Pharaoh's
Serpents,' a kind of pastile, which, when lighted, twists
about in a worm-like shape. Mrs. C. said they were
poisonous and forbade us all to touch. T. in defiance
put out his hand.

' Don't touch 'em ! ' shrieked Mrs. C. ' You sha'n't,
Alfred ! ' But Alfred did. ' Wash your hands then I '
But Alfred wouldn't, and rubbed his moustache instead,
enjoying Mrs. C.'s agonies. Then she said to him :
' Will you come to-morrow and be photographed ? '
He, very emphatically, ' No.'

She turned to me — ' You left a Great Poet out
of your Nightingale Valley^ and have been repenting
ever since in sackcloth and ashes — eh.''' She meant
Henry Taylor.

I tried to say that the volume was not a collection
of specimens of Poets, but she did not listen. Then
she said graciously, ' Come to-morrow and you shall be
taken.'

T. and I went out to the porch with Mrs. C, where
her donkey-chaise was waiting in the moonlight.

Tennyson now took Barnes and me to his top room.
Darwinism — ' Man from ape — would that really make
any difference } ' Huxley, Tyndall.

'Time is nothing,' said T., 'are we not all part
of Deity .'' ' ' Pantheism ^ ' hinted Barnes, who was not
at ease in this sort of speculation. ' Well I ' savs T., ' I
think I believe in Pantheism, of a sort.' Barnes to
bed, T. and I up ladder to the roof to look at Orion.
Then to my room, where more talk. He likes Barnes, he
says, ' but he is not accustomed to strong views theologic'

We talk of Browning, for whom T. has a very strong
personal regard. 'Browning must think himself the
greatest man living. I can't understand how he should

128 LYMINGTON ises

care for my poetry. His new poem has 15,000 lines —
there's copiousness ! I can't venture to put out a thing
without care. Good-night.* Bed about one, sleep
middHng.

November 4. — Lymington. Fine — Measured the
Yacht Stella by girting, then rowed round by ferry and
bridge in the sunshine, and felt as if it were shining out
of old times. I seldom care to row in this shallow
muddy river. Homer. Letter from Phil Jones begin-
ning, ' Please, Mr. Allicum — '

Wednesday^ November 8. — Fraser has a contemptuous
notice of my Fifty Modern Poems ^ which takes me
unpleasantly by surprise. What can Froude mean, after
all his private cream and sugar ^

Saturday, November 18. — Fine. I meet Woolner at
the train and take him to my lodging. We cross to
Yarmouth together, and by fly to Farringford.

Sunday, November 19. — To breakfast at Farringford
— read Gladstone on Homer (not much use }) Stroll
with A. T. and Woolner before luncheon. Walk after
on the Downs, A. T., Woolner, Weld and I ; rain, and
shelter in an empty cottage. Woolner tells of Coventry
Patmore's new wealth from his second marriage, his
magnificent wines, etc. — has bought an estate in Sussex.
Catholic now. We climb to the edge of the Downs
and looked over the gray sea.

Woolner said, ' This is better than Welbeck St. ! '
T., ' But it's lonesome. Sunday touches Sunday.' (He
meant that the weeks ran away without incident.)

Monday, November 27. — Studying Max Miiller these
days ; suppose he is a great authority on Language.
Walk, Pennington Common, moonlight — plan a set
of Japanese Poems (quasi -Japanese). Longing for
freedom.

Solentisms. — The folk who live by the Solent say
mash for marsh, 'ood for wood, waps for wasp, year
for here, postes for posts, haps for hasp, porching for
poaching ! acker is to stammer ; butt a beehive ; /'//

1865 LYMINGTON 129

twist 'en ! ' means I'll do it — i.e. some troublesome feat.
They say shant us for sha'n't we, to he for to him, and
make many or most neuter objects masculine ; it being
a jocular saying among themselves, ' In 'Am'sheer every-
thing's 'e but a tom-cat — see one, and. There she
goes ! '

November Heavy blasts shake the house.

Clough's Letters, Sorting old letters with kind
thoughts of old friends.

CHAPTER VIII

1866

January 9. — Ride to Brockenhurst — sudden snow-
storm, careering between the trees and across the road
like a charge of wild cavalry ; wraps us in winter, clears
ofF. Froude writes apologetically about the review in
Fraser. {N.B. — The article was by a Scotch lawyer
named Skelton, at whose house near Edinburgh Froude
is in the habit of putting up.) Lewes's Goethe — don't
like it. L.'s opinions on Goethe's works occupy much
space, and might be almost wholly spared.

January 22. — Death of dear good George Petrie (in
Dublin, on the i8th).

Tuesday^ January 23. — Fine and spring-like, but
I not well — thinking of George Petrie all day — sad
and sweet recollections. In the mild sunshine of his
company I never had a vexed moment. His presence
like one of those tender old Irish airs which flowed so
lovingly from his violin.

Thursday^ February i . — From Custom-House window
see Tennyson on board the steamer as she passes,. and
hurry to station. Mrs. Tennyson and Lionel go off
in a fly to Aubrey. T. and I walk, by Pennington,
Everton, etc. Dark and moist day, some showers.
Talk of Plato and Greek manners. In Lymer Lane
we come to a Spring by the wayside. ' I'd give any-
thing,' T. said, ' to have such a one at Farringford.'
Crossed a brook which ' broadened on the road,' and

130

1866 LYMINGTON 131

this also delighted him. ' Whenever I come to see
you,' he said, ' bring me to a Brook. I'd sooner have
it than a hundred ruined Castles.'

Saturday^ February 3. — To Brockenhurst by train,
where Aide meets me and we walk to Lyndhurst.

Forest Bank, dinner — Aide and his sweet courtly
old Lady Mother, ' Gussy ' Gore (son of Mrs. Gore
the novelist), and his wife, Paul Graham, etc.

Sunday, February 4. — Forest Bank. A. and Paul
Graham to church. I at home, look at A.'s sketch-
books (1847, etc.), chiefly of foreign scenes. Find Vol.
of my own poems, marked here and there. After
lunch, A. and I call at the Gore's — a curious place. The
house was a brewery, and an odd delightful room was
made of a storehouse and loft thrown together.

Mrs. Sartoris, who thought of taking the place before
the Gores, said it would be 'the romance of rheumatism.'

Dinner at 7. Drawing-room, fashionable chat of
Mrs, Aide and Paul Graham (who is just of age).

Thursday, February 15. — To Buckland Road, six
elms and a fir tree uprooted, top of fir carried across
road and plunged into the ground. Fiddle — try songs.
Lonelyish — supper, milk.

Whence or when I know not,
She will come at last,
And with one look will pay me
For all the lonely past.

March 20. — Showery, chilly. De Musset, essentially
trash .^ Meditations : what is life worth without love,
without faith .?

Friday, May 18. — Farringford. Walked with
Tennyson among the trees and lawns. T. said, ' White
lilac used to be my favourite flower.'

A. — ' It is something like a white peacock.'

Then I told him what Browning said to me about
a passage in the 'Princess' — 'Tennyson's taken to
white peacocks ! I always intended to use them. The
Pope has a number of white peacocks.'

132 FARRINGFORD 1866

We went through the gate and down to Wisley
Green. T. remarked, ' I have not been outside my
own grounds before for ever so long.'

We spoke of Byron. T. greatly admired him in
boyhood, but does not now.

' When I heard of his death (it was at Somersby, my
Father's rectory) 1 went out to the back of the house and
cut on a wall with my knife, " Lord Byron is dead." '

' Parts of Don Juan are good, but other parts badly
done. I like some of his small things.'

A. — ' Any of his Tales, or Mysteries, or Plays ^ '

T.— 'No.'

A. — ' He was the one English writer who disparaged
Shakespeare. He was a Lord, and talked about, and he
wrote vulgarly, therefore he was popular.'

T. — ' Why am I popular .? I don't write very
vulgarly.'

A. — ' I have often wondered that you are, and
Browning wonders.'

T. — ' 1 believe it's because I'm Poet-Laureate. It's
something like being a lord.'

The true poetic crown, he said, was not made of
what we call laurel ; he showed me a specimen of the
classic laurel growing at Farringford (sent him, I think,
by Mr. Edward Lear), a small bush with pointed
twinkling leaves.

May 25. — A little excursion from Friday till
Monday. Wimbourne, Blandford, Salisbury, Fording-
bridge, Ringwood, etc.

Wednesday, June 13. — Breakfast at Farringford.
Letter from an Irishman, Belfast, addressed —

' To the Laureate of England ' —

asking the meaning of something in In Memoriam. T.
in the lawn and meadow running about bareheaded (for
exercise), ' like a madman,' his sister says.

Friday, June 22. — Very fine. Train to Lyndhurst
Road and walk into Forest — beeches cut down — warm —

1866 LYMINGTON 133

pretty country towards Dibden and Southampton.
Tents, with folk like Gypsies (but they say no\ peel-
ing rushes for rushlights : you leave a strip of green
on the pith for backbone. Beaulieu, the Duke's park,
old church and ruins. Village, tide in. Cottage hung
with roses, man in front garden tells me he has lived
there fifty-three years. I praise the beauty and quiet,
but he often thinks he * ought to a'pushed out into the
world — gone to London or some large place.' Boys
fishing for bass. The miller's, a piano going inside
(' it is the miller's daughter,' no doubt). Rasher and ale
at the inn. The young lady at the bar with short
curls and towny air finds it ' very dull here.' I walk
away at 20 to 9, sunset light over heath and forest,
long road. The night-jar whirring.

Saturday, July 14. — Returning to lodgings from
office find that a telegram has come and the servant
has gone out with it to find me, taking wrong way.
Frightened — my Father? Turns out to be very
pleasant, ' Crown Hotel, Lyndhurst. A. Tennyson
to W. AUingham. Will you come to us here ^. '
Dine hastily and rush to train.

Sunday y July 15. — Breakfast at Crown 9.30. A. T.,
Mrs. T., Hallam and Lionel. A. T. and I out at 12.
Swan Green, forest path, Halliday's Hill, we swim
through tall bracken. T. pauses midway, turns to
me, and says solemnly, ' I believe this place is quite
full of vipers ! ' After going a little further, he stopped
again and said, ' I am told that a viper-bite may make
a woman silly for life, or deprive a man of his
virility.'

We entered Mark Ash, a wood of huge solemn
Beech trees, the floor thick-matted with dead leaves ; a
few trees were broken or fallen ; some towered to a great
height before branching. We sat on the roots of a
mighty Beech. T. smoked. We shared in sandwiches
and brandy. Then he produced a little pocket As T'ou
Like It, and read some parts aloud.

134 LYNDHURST 1866

Returned by Holm Hill — View to Isle of Wight,
with six or seven distances one behind another. T.
limps, his boots pinch him — paid £1 : 1 2 : 6 for them ;
his Bootmaker in the Burlington Arcade, highly fashion-
able. ' Writes to me, " Mr. Alfred Tennyson." '

I suggested, ' he feels he is doing you an honour,
being plain Afr., in consenting to make your boots.'

T. — ' One day while he was measuring me, I called
his attention to my corns, and said, " Have you any
corns } " — From that moment he threw off all respect ! '

We agreed that with the French, or Italians, or Irish
you can be familiar without breeding contempt.

We strike again into the woods and reach the hill
over Swan Green at 4. The donkey-chair with Mrs. T.
and the boys appears, and a stupid little donkey-
driver. It jolts down the rough wood-path. Huge
flies draw blood.

H., L,, and I go in search of the great Knight wood
Oak and find it, looking fresh and healthy, but one limb
lost. ' Kelt and Saxon.' Dine 7.30. T. on sofa at
window, pleasant chat.

' I hate publishing ! have published much for book-
sellers' reasons. A grain of originality is a great
thing.'

' True knowledge of people very hard to get at :
physiognomy is misleading.'

I argue against this and think that, if you can read
them, faces will tell you the truth.

T. — ' You may think you have insight when you
haven't.'

I out, and take a dark walk to corner of Fox Leas
and back. Owls shouting. Corncrakes.

Monday., July 16. — 'The Crown.' Breakfast —
rough waitress, poorly managed Inn. I pack up and
go down the Brockenhurst Road, A. T. having started
before me. At Fox Leas corner find him sitting under
a tree. Talk of a trip to Ireland. Good-bye, walk
to station, train to Lymington.

1866 LYNDHURST 135

Wednesday^ July 18. — Considering about T. and
Ireland. Brockenhurst. Walk to Lyndhurst by
Holland's Wood and Pondhead. Inquire at two
places for lodgings, — 'taken.' Crown, all out, engage
a bedroom.

Dinner, A. T., Mrs. T., H. and L. The sherry
here, T. says, a compound of spirits of wine — a bottle
of it ' stunned me.'

We talk of plans and routes for a trip. T. has
decided against Connemara. T. and I out in starlight,
down street, lower road. He is surprised to find I
have a habit of taking a walk after dinner.

' What is that star ^ '

' Arcturus.'

T. — ' I see it shuddering and tearing away ! — my
eyes are so bad. In the Plough each star is a wide
blot of misty light.

' The old mail-coach travelling sometimes delightful.

' I remember going from London to Bath in
spring outside the coach — all very fresh and bright, a
delicious day ! No words can express the heavenly
feeling I had.'

Dogs — T., ' When I lived in Epping Forest I had
a big mastiff; he once ate up a little dog.'

' Did he bite people ? '

' Sometimes.'

Thursday^ July 19. — Lyndhurst, fine. Walk with
T., Fox Leas, Whitley Wood, Queen's Bower, brook
dry ; a heron rises. Another brook, brisk and clear,
which pleases T. ' I should like to lie in that pool
for an hour. Nothing so delightful to the mind as
a brook.' I say good-bye, cross Ober Green and hurry
to train, thunder-shower in the evening.

Sunday^ July ii. — T. and I walk to Swan Green,
turn off to Emery Down and into Compton Manor by
path which leads us into a Park and then flower-gardens.
We are posed, till a gardener shows us the way, with
the remark that, ' It is not liked that people should

136 LYNDHURST ,866

come through the Manor.' We explain that we lost
our way. See a jay. Cross a brook. Take a wrong
turn to the left, and inquire at a cottage where
the folk are at dinner and civilly offer us beer. The
wood-paths puzzle us again.

T. says, ' I want some forest,' and leans over a gate
while I go scouting to the top of the hill and scratch
my new umbrella amid the brambles (important at the
time !) Reach Stony Cross Inn and make inquiries,
then back to T., who is lying under a hedge, reading.
He reads aloud from his book, Materialism of the
Present Time, by Paul Janet.

' Vis inertias — matter can do nothing by itself —
there must be a Primary Motor,'

A huge hornet ; T. kills it.

' A weekly paper called The Hornet — sweet name to
choose ! '

To the Stony Cross Inn ; bread and cheese and
shandygaff {i.e. beer and ginger-beer), good ; civil girl.
We look at rooms upstairs, and T. opens a door
disclosing folk eating, and shuts it. View of woods
below the ridge. We descend ; felled trees, bare
spaces.

W. M. Thackeray — his letter about the ' Idylls ' —
' While I am reading your splendid verses, here I lie
in bed ' — his sufferings.

On large famihes — Mill, Malthus, etc.

We look about for the big yews, and can't find them.
Ask Rural Postman, who says, ' The Sloden Yews are
all cut down. They were offered me, the whole of 'em,
for _;^50. It was the head place for Yews.' I think he
said they were bought for ;^30 by an upholsterer at
Southampton. We much vexed ; T. said he would
have paid ^^30 himself to have preserved this famous
Yew Wood, old beyond memory, and fit to live beyond
reckoning. The cutting probably done by order of
some London official down for the day. But surely
the Deputy Ranger here might have interposed.'' The

1866 LONDON 137

wood is valuable, but very hard to cut and work.
We now had wide prospects Eastwards, over forest
and field, dale and down, towards Southampton and
Winchester.

After dinner we talk of dreams. T. said, ' In my
boyhood I had intuitions of Immortality — inexpressible !
I have never been able to express them. I shall try
some day.'

I say that I too have felt something of that kind ;
whereat T. (being in one of his less amiable moods)
growls, ' I don't believe you have. You say it out
of rivalry.'

Tuesday, July 24. — Have got ten days' leave.

Wednesday, July 25. — To London by 10.20 train.

Thursday, July 26. — Note from Browning, just off
to Bretagne : on mourning paper ; his father dead.

July 27. — Dine at Tom Taylor's, Lavender Sweep.
In with them to Opera.

Monday, July 30. — Kensington Square. Studio.
Psyche drawings. Book planned, Morris, and ' lots
of stories and pictures.'

To D. G. R., Cheyne Walk. My old regard for
D. G. R. stirs within me, and would be as warm as
ever if he would let it. Fanny, Howell, D. G. R.,
H., and I walk to Sloane St. ; talk of dining at the
Wellington (corner of St. James's St.), but do dine
or feed at a little a -la-mode beef-house off Sloane
Square. His pleasant easy manners. He is now acting
as Secretary to Ruskin. He tells about the subscription
for old George Cruikshank, of which he is Treasurer.
I promise £ i .

' C. is very badly off '

' How can that be ? He has no children.'

' A number ! '

When we separated I turned the corner into Cheyne
Row, and seeing light in No. 5 went in. Upstairs
room, Carlyle, Miss Welsh (' Maggie '), Miss Jews-
bury, and an old bald man, to whom I was introduced

138 LONDON 1866

by C. ' This is David Laing, well known to all
inquirers into Scottish affairs.' (Librarian to the
Signet Library, Edinburgh.)

They were looking over some engraved portraits,
and C. singled out one, asking pointedly, ' Whose face
do you call this .? ' Laing suggested that it might be
So-and so, or So-and-so, C. saying * No, no, no ! ' and
at last, ' I perceive that you can throw no light on the
matter.' It is his own conviction that this (a shrewd
humorous face with bald forehead and scanty beard)
is the only authentic portrait of John Knox.

Miss Welsh is ever cheerful and chirpy. Miss
Jewsbury asks me to visit her. Mr. Laing gone,
C. and I sit on chairs in the little back garden, under
the summer stars, he smoking.

The New Forest — adder, properly ' a nadder.' He
repeats, ' the poison of asps is under their tongues.'
He speaks approvingly of my paper on Petrie in
Fraser. ' Perhaps oi;^r- appreciative — but that is as
it should be in such a case.' C.'s last visit to Dublin
and intercourse with Petrie there.

' Very amiable and good man ; but can get no good
of his writings.'

We walk out in the solitary streets.

' Success of Prussia — nothing has pleased me so well
for forty years. I knew it must be. Bismarck a hero
— his disregard of the babble of people and newspapers,
and of his own parliament.

' History of Ireland — I recommend you to try it.
You may do a very nice book in ten years ; not long,
about the length of my French Revolution. It's a book
that would have a large sale. Whatever poetic faculty
you may have would be shown in this form, etc.

' The death of Hugh de Lacy, where was that ? '

* At Durrow in Meath. Hugh de Lacy was looking
at a new castle he was building, when an Irishman
standing by suddenly pulled an axe from under his
loose coat, and at a blow struck off Hugh's head,

i866 LONDON 139

stretched forward, doubtless. Head and body fell into
the castle ditch,'

' I would have gone and looked at the spot if I
could have found it.'

As we parted he said, ' Come again some evening,
at eight.'

Then by solitary streets and devious ways I arrived
at Kensington Square, and found Ned, sleepy, returned
from a Reform Meeting in the Agricultural Hall,
Islington, whither he went with Faulkner. N. J. is
now a People's Man.

Tuesday, July 31. — Kensington Square. Rainy.
' Reform Meeting. Couldn't hear the speeches.'
Studio, N. painting ; imitates old Connoisseur talking
of ' Greek Art,' etc. I in cab to D. G. R.'s.
W. M. R., friendly — back from Naples, Vesuvius,
Pompeii. Sandys, painter, large heavy man with short
yellowish hair parted in the middle. Tells me he
* wants a dreary moor to paint — is there such a thing
in the New Forest '^ ' Enter Swinburne (his hair cut).
Talk about ages : W. M. R. tells his experience of
Vesuvius. Swinburne's new volume is on the table.
Am asked to dine here on Friday. Swinburne asks
leave to stay the night. Kensington Square about 3.
Leave a note on table — ' Your respectfully drowsy
Friend — 3 a.m.'

Sleep not comfortably on my sofa.

Wednesday, August i. — Newspaper says cholera is
increasing. I ask Ned to come down to Lymington,
with wife and babes. Thinks of it. At dinner
William Morris, pleasant, learned about wines and
distilling. The Big Story Book, woodcut of Olympus
by N. Jones. M. and friends intend to engrave the
wood-blocks themselves — and M. will publish the
book at his warehouse. I like Morris much. He is
plain-spoken and emphatic, often boisterously, without
an atom of irritating matter. He goes about 12.

Thursday, August 2. — Waterloo, 5.10 train. Lord

I40 LYMINGTON ,866

Cardigan (for Portsmouth), bustJe in station, hats
touched ; a thin old upright man with an air of
command ; face cold, but not exactly repulsive.
Bishop of Winchester (Wilberforce), shrewd, ruddy old
round face, young man with him (his son?), and a
clever looking little parson.

August 6. — Look at Miss Knight's rooms for the
Joneses, think they will do. Write.

Wednesday^ August 15. — Lodgings far from ready,
bring books. Meet Aubrey De Vere in Ashly Lane,
coming to call on me. Chat, ' going to Ireland, then
back to Bournemouth — Laurence Bloomfield^ etc' ; with
me to station. I to Brockenhurst. Here's Ned
and Madam and Pip and Baby ! They much like
Stanwell House.

Friday^ August 17. — Ned and I crossed to the Island
and visited Tennyson, who received us very friendlily
and took us up to his den.

Saturday^ August 18. — Very fine. South wind. Ned,
Georgie and I to Brockenhurst. Field-path, stiles, Ober
Green, heather : Queen's Bower. Sit by the little
bridge. Oakenshaw, big oak, brook, insects, big beech.
Ned sketches. I read aloud Robin Hood and the
Monk. Skirt New Park to other wood, they tired.
Ned does not paint down here (it's his holiday), and
only makes a few pencil sketches. He occupies himself,
when in the mood, with designs for the Big Book of
Stories in Verse by Morris, and has done several from
Cupid and Psyche ; also pilgrims going to Rome, and
others. He founds his style in these on old Woodcuts,
especially those in Hypnerotomachia^ of which he has a
fine copy. His work in general, and that of Morris
too, might perhaps be called a kind of New Renaissance.

Sunday, August 26. — Fine. Rail 4.5 to Brockenhurst.
The old Church. Service over, we peep in and
encounter the Vicar, Rev. ' Paddy ' Falls. I apologise,
introduce my friends. ' Come in. Why not .'' ' he says,
with a strong brogue and funny twinkle of eye. ' I

1866 LYMINGTON 141

was just saying a few words to a poor woman — pouring
the " leperous distilment " into her ear.' I remarked
that we ought to have come in service-time. ' Not at all,
sir, not at all ! ' says Paddy politely, and showed us
round the church. N. and G. were delighted with this
Vicar (' hot from the service,' as Georgie remarked),
and thought the quotation ' leperous distilment ' very
happy.

Through Brockenhurst Park, where N. likes the
woods. Roydon. They tired — Boldre — Lymington
about 7, very tired. Ned comes to dine with me, not
Georgie. . . . He lauds Luini; speaks of the injustice of
the critics, ' wonder when people will begin to speak of
me decently.' With him to Stanwell : return and read
Carlyle's Cromwell.

Tice^daj;-yiwgust 28. — Rain, clears up. Yacht. Webb
comes by train, a room for him at Perry's. We dine
at Stanwell House.

Thursday ^ Jugtist 1^0. — Rail to Winchester, with N.,G.,
and Webb — meet Morris there. All walk by the Close
and meadows to St. Cross. Old man, dining-hall ;
men's rooms, old cloisters, wooden arches — mixed up
with leaves and flowers. The Dole. Back by meadows
and streamlets. Dinner at ' The George,' tough mutton,
parsonic waiter, red-faced grinning Landlady, bill 19s.

Cathedral — west window, bits of old glass, choir,
side aisles. Lady chapel, wall paintings, etc. Morris
talked copiously and interestingly on all things, Webb
now and again on technicalities (also interesting). Ned
enjoyed the general charm and picturesqueness ; I also,
in my own way — but with the drawback of uncomfort-
ableness which I alwavs feel from the incongruity of
past and present, ot old intention and modern significance,
in these great and beautiful Edifices.

A Verger, tall, sallow, and melancholy, did not offer
his services, but made a remark or two which seemed
to imply, in a self-respecting manner, that he was ready
to go round with us officially if we cared for him.

142 WINCHESTER iS66

But, taking slight notice of him, Morris discoursed
away, and the Verger hstened with the rest of us, at
one point civilly correcting Morris on a detail, and
pointing out the broken hand of a Knightly figure. I
made some sort of apology aside to this man for not
availing ourselves of his guidance. With a mournful
pride he confessed his sympathy with our views, saying,
' I should do just the same myself. I never meet any
one in a place like this that I would care to have go
round with me.'

We went to the College. In the Chapel, bad glass
in imitation of old. To Dining Hall by outside stairs,
bread and butter on square slab of wood, beer, and tea
(a modern innovation). The Boys. I have my usual
feeling of no unkindly envy at the discipline and
training (the evils, very real, at present invisible).
Schoolroom — dormitory. Under gateway and out.
Old walls, then clear brisk river, little houses with
gardens, bridge, St. Giles's with little red-tiled steeple-
spire, — wide space. High Street, the downs rising
beyond. Old Hall, Assize Courts, Arthur's Round
Table ! View of City and Cathedral flushed with
sunset. Field-path to Station. Ned, G., and Morris
and I back to Lymington — Webb to London. M.
being hot wants to sit in a draught. When we got
to Stanwell House, Ned said, ' I'm very sorry, but
I've been so lazy I've not done a single thing for
the book,' to which Morris gave a slight grunt. Then
Ned produced his eight or nine designs for the wood-
blocks, whereupon Morris laughed right joyously and
shook himself. Supper, then took M. to the ' Nag's
Head ' for his bed. House-maid uncivil : a very stupid
ill-mannered set of humans in these parts.

Friday^ August 3 1 . — Carriagefrom ' Nag's Head ' takes
N., G., M., Phil and me to the sea at Milford. Milford
Church, in, good, ' time of Henry I., about,' Morris
says ; choir waggon-roofed. Hurst shingle, M. and N.
sprawl, won't walk. We bury Morris up to the neck

1866 LYMINGTON

in shingle. Surge, boats, sward. M. would like to
find lodgings in Milford. Return — they dine with me
at 7. Look at folio Virgil with plates, and Raleigh's
History of the World, etc.

Tuesday, September 4. — N. and G. sup with me.
Heywood's Woman Killed with Kindness^ and Heine's
honest Lottery Office Keeper (which delights N.),

After they go I read in Swinburne's volume, lent me
by Ned, but can't like it : great display of literary
power of a sort, to what result } so elaborated, so
violently emphatic, so really cold-blooded.

Wednesday 5.— Cloudy, showers. To Stanwell
House. The Joneses packing up. Baby Margaret,
asleep on large bed, her father has made like a grotesque
giantess, by means of gloves and shoes peeping out at
immense distances. Good-byes, including old Mrs.
G., who is eighty-eight, living at top of the house,
Nosegay, omnibus. Train for London, and so ends the
pleasant friendly visit. They would like, they say, to
come again, and to the same lodging. I walk back to
Lymington by the old church and Boldre.

Wednesday, September 19, — Southampton Exhibition.
Pictures — 'Sir Joshua,' Hunt's ' Awakening Conscience,'
Lear's ' Florence,' Lee's ' Caprera,' etc. Antiquities —
Indian and Chinese things, etc, etc. An Exhibition
always troubles my mind — why i' — it is heterogeneous
and confused, as a whole the very opposite of an artistic
thing. A Collection of whatever kind ought itself to be
a Work of Art — hard to manage this in a temporary
Exhibition, yet even here something might be done.

Monday, October i, — Clough as poet is reflective and
didactic. His landscape painting is noteworthy for
its truth and solidity. It is often too truthful to be
good as art, resembling rather a coloured photograph
than a picture. Something of the land-surveyor, one
might say, mingles with the poet. In everything,
indeed, he aims at exactness, sometimes with too
obvious an effort.

144 LYMINGTON ' 1866

M^an^ shape the moment I God will shape the life.

[Allingham received a sudden intimation of his
Father's death — on October 7. He went at once to
Ballyshannon.

This was his last visit to Ireland.]

November 9. — Walk — the old pathway to Brocken-
hurst Church, through Mr. Morant's park, obstructed
by an oak lying across it, so that the rain has formed a
small morass. The Squire evidently allows it to lie
there for the annoyance of people using the path, which
he would fain shut up. What an ugly trick. Hear
guns, and see M. in shooting-dress, dark-haired, florid,
rather dandified man between thirty and forty, some-
thing like an opera Baritone. Daresay he would like to
shoot me for being on this path, which has certainly
been public since before the Norman Conquest, while
his family have only been here two or three generations.
The old Doomsday Book Church, with its yew and
hollow oak, always a delight to me. There is talk of
building, mainly by the Squire's wish, a new one in
another place — cutting one more of the threads that
join Past with Present. Of what use is John M. in the
world } Towards the village he has closed up lately a
beautiful bit of shady byroad.

On my return find a parcel by rail from Gabriel con-
taining the portfolio of photographs from drawings by
his poor Wife ; they are naturally full of his influence.^
Also of two very beautiful pencil portraits of her by
his hand, one a head, the other full-length.

Short, sad and strange her life ; it must have seemed
to her like a troubled dream. She was sweet, gentle,
and kindly, and sympathetic to art and poetry. As to
art-power, it is not easy to make as much as a guess ;
and this portfolio hardly helps. But it is very interest-
ing, at least to those who knew her. Her pale face,
abundant red hair, and long thin limbs were strange
and affecting — never beautiful in my eyes.

^ These are now in Mrs. Allingham's possession.

1866 LYMINGTON 145

Sunday, November 11. — Milder weather, mind dull
and muddy. History of Ireland — lawlessness and turbu-
lency, robbery and oppression, hatred and revenge,
blind selfishness everywhere — no principle, no heroism.
What can be done with it '^.

Monday^ November 12. — Meet G. St. Barbe. He
applied viva voce, to oblige me, to the Parson of EUing-
ham, whom he knows, for leave for me to look over
the Parish Register. I want to see if I can discover any
traces of my ancestors (Allingham and Ellingham are,
I believe, identical), who came to the north-west of
Ireland in, Petrie thought, Elizabeth's reign. The old
Vicar answered gruffly, ' Shilling a year, shilling a
year ! ' that is, I must pay a fee of a shilling for each
year I look at. This might come to a good deal of
money, so I give the thing up.

November 13. — Out after midnight to look for
meteors, see many streaming like fiery arrows, mostly
from east to west.

Wednesday, November ii. — Farringford. Breakfast.
Letter for Tennyson from Poets sending specimens of
their work, and autograph seekers. T. says, ' I should
like to sneak about and get a cup of tea by myself.'
At which Mrs. T. smiles sweetly on us, T. added, in a
matter-of-fact way, ' I breakfasted alone for a quarter of
a century.' Mrs. T. asks me to stay, but go to Lymington
I must, so hurry off to Yarmouth, running part of the
way, to catch steamer. Cross again in the afternoon,
and walk to Farringford. Dinner. Parson F. defends
Church and State. Parson's wife angry, and shows it.

Drawing-room. — T. on the death of children, with-
out any reference to orthodox phrases or notions.
Mrs. F., driven out of her wits almost, declares what
he says to be ' mere chop-logic' After this he goes
upstairs leaving us silent and the parson's wife enraged,

T. and I upstairs — ' Swinburne — he has a metrical
swing. W. M. Rossetti's pamphlet.'

' You shocked Mrs. F.'

146 FARRINGFORD 1866

* Can't help it.'

Thursday^ November 22. — Farringford. After break-
fast T. reads a number of Songs of his under the general
title of The Window^ or, The Loves of the Wrens^ pre-
facing it by the remark, ' They're quite silly ! '

These songs were privately printed some little time
ago at the press of Sir Ivor Guest. Arthur Sullivan
saw a copy and managed to get a promise from T. to
allow him to set them to music and publish them, all
together, on some half-profit arrangement. T. repented
of this and tried hard to back out. Some lines in them
one remembers like a nursery rhyme —

When the winds are up in the morning,
Vine, vine and eglantine.
Rose, rose and clematis
Kiss, kiss !

There are naiVetes and niaiseries —

You are small, am I so tall ?
Cannot we come together ?

Why?
For it's easy to find a rhyme —
It's ay, ay, ay, ay, ay !

In reading this, T. jumped round most comically,
like a cock-pigeon. He is the only person I ever saw
who can do the most ludicrous things without any loss
of dignity.

Reading the lines —

After-loves of maids and men
Are but meats cook'd up again,

he remarked, ' That's very like Shakespeare.'

December 2. — Letter from John. Irish Annals.
Walk, Shirley Holmes, — heavy shower ; shelter under
ivied porch of gatehouse, man looks out, I ask leave

he replies ' I doesn't know as it's any 'arm to

stand theer,' — a British welcome, or Anglo-Saxon
rather. Yellow sky under rain-cloud.

Saturday^ December 22. — To Tom Taylor's, Lavender

1866 LONDON 147

Sweep, for Christmas. Clapham Junction, all trains late.
Reach the hospitable house about 7, in good time for
dinner. Then T. T. hurries me off to the Junction
again, and from Waterloo we take a cab to the Adelphi,
and see The Sister s Penance, with Kate Terry. The
Indian Mutiny scene, Ahmedvolah. In a stage-box the
Terry family (including Nellie) and their Yorkshire
friends. We just catch train at Waterloo and get home
about half-past twelve.

December 24. — Lavender Sweep. After City, a
steak at the Cock, in honour of Will Waterproof — but
where is now the ' plump head-waiter ' } Rail from
Blackfriars ; in the train a widow telling a man of her
son's death, sour-looking man opposite interposes ' I
doubt if your son died a right and happy death,' and
then goes out. I speak to the widow and try to take
away the dismal effect of this fellow's harsh words.
She tells me of her son, how good he was. After the
widow got out, one woman in the carriage said to
another ' we want something to cheer us up after that '
— perhaps gin.

No people talk so freely as the lower class of
Londoners when thrown together.

Lavender Sweep. Children's party — The Terrys,
Burnands, etc. Game of Post Office, I blind the people.
Game of the Ring. Mistletoe. All gone. Chat by
the fire.

December 26. — Lavender Sweep. Goodbye. Bright
spring-like day. To Kensington Square. Ned. Studio.
He with me to Kensington Station and sees me off.

CHAPTER IX

1867

Friday^ January 24. — Lymington. Fine and vernal.
Ferry to steamer — delightful colours of earth, sky and
sea, a bloom upon the landscape. From the Solent
see the woody background of Lymington recede, the
Island approach with a welcome ; a boat with red
sails passes in the sunshine. I feel tranquilly happy.
Yarmouth, send two bottles of whisky to A. T. by
Lambert's driver. Walk to Farringford, field-path,
warm. Drawing-room. Mrs. T. (looking ill). Miss
T., T, He and I walk on the downs ; very friendly
talk. I said I felt happy to-day, but he — ' I'm not at
all happy — very unhappy.' He spoke of immortality
and virtue, — Man's pettiness. — ' Sometimes I have a
kind of hope.' His anxiety has always been great to
get some real insight into the nature and prospects of
the Human Race. He asks every person that seems
in the least likely to help him in this, reads every book.
When Vestiges of Creation appeared he gathered from
the talk about it that it came nearer to an explanation
than anything before it. T. got the volume, and (he
said to me), ' I trembled as I cut the leaves.' But alas,
neither was satisfaction there.

Plato : T. says he has not really got anything from
him. iEschylus is great ; he quoted from a Chorus in
the Agamemnon.

Women in towns, dangers to health, horrible

1867 FRESHWATER 149

diseases, quack-doctors, etc. T. would have a strict
Contagious Diseases Act in force everywhere.

We go through kitchen garden, lane and gate to
the road as usual, where we take leave after some talk
upon Christ and the People. T. loves the spirit of
Christianity, hates many of the dogmas.

Friday^ February i. — T. is unhappy from his uncer-
tainty regarding the condition and destiny of man. Is
it dispiriting to find a great Poet with no better grounds
of comfort than a common person ? At first it is.
But how should the case be otherwise ? The poet has
only the same materials of sensation and thought as
ordinary mortals ; he uses them better ; but to step
outside the human limitations is not granted even to
him. The secret is kept from one and all of us. We
must turn eyes and thoughts to the finer and nobler
aspects of things, and never let the scalpel of Science
overbear pen, pencil and plectrum. A Poet's doubts
and anxieties are more comforting than a scientist's
certainties and equanimities.

Saturday, February 2. — T. and Lionel just starting
for a walk ; we took the green road at foot of downs,
T. had in his pocket a volume, or pamphlet, of Edwin
Waugh's Lancashire Songs, and when we paused he
read, ' Coam whoam to thy childre and me,' with praise.
We went to the end of the downs overlooking the
Needles. T. spoke of Campbell — his vanity — ' has
written fine things.'

Edge of cHft, wind blowing in from the sea ; a ship
ashore at Brook,

Sunday, February 3. — Walk with T. to Brook Bay,
ship ashore, the Fannie Larabee of Bath, large, three
masts, good model. There are people on the shore,
but T, doesn't seem to mind. We walked to next
point and saw a steamer ashore at Atherfield ; then
turned up to downs and came back by a path slanting
along the cliff side, like a frightful dream rather, my
head being lightish. T. tells of people who have fallen

I50 LYMINGTON 1867

over, and at one place is a monumental stone to com-
memorate such an accident. I said (walking close
behind him) ' suppose I were to slip and catch hold
of you, and we both rolled down together,' on which
T. stopped and said, ' you'd better go on first.'

We talked of Dryden, Campbell, etc. T. told me he
was prevented from doing his Arthur Epic, in twelve
books, by John Sterling's Review of ' Morte d'Arthur '
in the Quarterly. ' I had it all in my mind, could have
done it without any trouble. The King is the complete
man, the Knights are the passions.' Home a little late
for dinner. Afterwards T. rose to leave the room.
Matilda (I think) asked, ' Where are you going ? '

* To read the Scriptures.'

Later in the drawing-room he read aloud some of
Goethe's lyrics.

Monday, February 18. — Mist. Steamer to Yarmouth.
Flags flying. The Queen expected from Osborne,
coming to take a look at this part of the island. I to
Farringford. I say to T., ' Perhaps the Queen wiU
visit you to-day.' He thinks it possible.

' Then I had better go .? '

' No, stay by all means.'

Talking of the Queen, when T, was at Osborne
Her Majesty said to him, ' Cockneys don't annoy aj,'
to which T. rejoined, ' If I could put a sentry at each
of my gates I should be safe.'

* She was praising my poetry ; I said *' Every one
writes verses now. I daresay Your Majesty does." She
smiled and said, " No ! I never could bring two lines
together ! " '

The Queen, I find, has steamed past Yarmouth,
landed at Alum Bay, and lunched there at the hotel.

March 30. — Ride to Hurst. Returning, I rode by
the edge of the sea, till in one place the horse suddenly
sank to his belly in the muddy sand. I had a real fright
for half a minute, and then we scrambled out, I don't
know how. At Keyhaven I got the horse well wisped.

1867 LONDON 151

Wednesday^ April 3, — Farringford. Tennyson and
I busied ourselves in the shrubberies, transplanting
primroses with spade, knife, and wheelbarrow. After
dinner T. concocts an experimental punch with whisky
and claret — not successful. Talks of Publishers, anon
of higher things. He said, ' I feel myself to be a
centre — can't believe I shall die. Sometimes I have
doubts, of a morning. Time and Space appear thus
by reason of our boundedness.'

We spoke of Swedenborg, animals, etc., all with the
friendliest sympathy and mutual understanding. T, is
the most delightful man in the world to converse with,
even when he disagrees.

To my inn, where I woke in the dark, bitten, and
improvised two lines —

Who in a country inn lies ill at ease
On fozy feathers fill'd with furious fleas.

April 18 io 25. — In London, staying at Tom
Taylor's — old Mr. Barker is there. See Carlyle,
Browning, Ned Jones, etc.

Sunday J April 1 1 , — Lunch with Browning at War-
wick Crescent. Miss Browning. Swinburne's writing
'a fuzz of words.' Browning improvises,

Don't play with sharp tools, these are edge 'uns,
My Ned Jones !

B.'s pet owl sits on its perch in a corner, B, calls
him ' a good man,' petting and stroking him. We
speak of William Morris, and B. wishes he could see
him : I say, ' Come with me to him,' and B. hesitates,
but ends by not finding it possible to-day. Enter Pen.
As Tou Like It — Mrs. Scott Siddons was ' so bad ! '
Shakespeare's language ; he invented a great number of
words and phrases which have become common property —

The big round tears
Cours'd one another down his innocent nose.

Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens !

152 LYMINGTON 1867

Now Byron says * swept,' and that's all very fine — but
give me the man who first said ' sweep.'

To Cheyne Row. C, asks about my Irish History^
but is not satisfied to find me taking much trouble
about the ancient part, for which he cares very little,
the old Saints excepted. I fear, indeed know, that my
views and his are irreconcilable. He describes Mentone
— clear air, good peasant people near it.

Saturday^ May 4. — Lymington. By train to Brocken-
hurst and walk to Queen's Bower. The brook be-
starred with white flowers (water crowfoot), little fishes
gliding. Sit under the Big Oak reading As Tou
Like It, — and this might be Jacques's very brook in
Arden. Then through forest glades appears a carriage
with Aide, George du Maurier and his wife, and Miss
Middlecoat.

May 24. — To Winchester, St. Giles's Hill, Cathedral,
St. Cross, etc.

May 25. — Farnham (see Rambles by Patricius
Walker), Cobbett's Birthplace *The Jolly Farmer.'
Bishop's Park, fine old walls, great elms, deer. Moor
Park and Waverley, river, ruins, Crooksbury Hill
(dark firs).

May 26. — Guildford — Hog's Back, Liphook — Gray-
shot, and find the Tennyson house (they occupy the
best part of a large farmhouse). Lionel shows me the
piece of land which his Father thinks of buying to
build on.

May 27. — Morris's Jason, 'from his friend the
Author.' Medea oiFwith the Fleece — admirable.

Sunday, June 9. — Find with joy a book on my table,
by post, May-Day — gift from Emerson.

Monday, June 10. — Fine, warm. To Brockenhurst
by invitation to the Bowden Smiths, croquet, roses, hot
sun. Field-path to station, red campions and kingcups.
Down train comes in with Mrs. Cameron, queenly in a
carriage by herself surrounded by photographs. We
go to Lymington together, she talking all the time.

1867 LONDON 153

' I want to do a large photograph of Tennyson, and he
objects ! Says I make bags under his eyes — and
Carlyle refuses to give me a sitting, he says it's a kind
of Inferno ! The greatest men of the age (with strong
emphasis), Sir John Herschel, Henry Taylor, Watts,
say I have immortalised them — and these other men
object !! What is one to do Hm ? '

This is a kind of interrogative interjection she often
uses, but seldom waits for a reply. I saw her off" in the
Steamer, talking to the last. Dine 7.30 — Sit on door-
step and hear corncrake in the moonlight. Haymaking
now.

June 18. — Very line. Picnic in Forest, School-
girls and grown folk, youths and maidens. A Club
Day also — children in waggons^ — noise and laughter —
wood walks. We dine on the grass at 2.15.

Friday 2%. — Hot. Leave of absence : Burnett, my
locum tenens^ appears, and I start for London, to stay
in Kensington Square. Find Georgie well, Ned at
Morris's — supper.

Saturday 29. — Kensington Square. Hot — call at
Lavender Sweep ; Mrs. Tom Taylor, Lucy, W^ycliffe.
Up Regent St. ; dusty, dry, ugly London. Dine at 7.
Ned and I in garden of square ; to us enter Mr. John
Simon (from next door) and his niece. Mr. S. a kind,
bright pleasant man and good talker, as well as eminent
surgeon, boyishly merry at times. He and his niece
run a race to the house, then he jumps on the low wall
and lies flat on it as if exhausted. Read Ruskin's
Lecture at Royal Institution on Art and Life.

Sunday 30. — Ned's Studio, ' St. George and Dragon,'
' The First Mirror ' (nude models). To Queen's Square ;
Mrs. Morris, Jeannie and May. Enter Morris, frank and
friendly as usual — Supper.

Tuesday, July 1. — Ned, Howell and L Howell
' going to be married in August ' — I congratulate him ;

he says * you are more encouraging than , who,

when I told him, said in an anxious tone —

154 LYMINGTON 1867

' My dear fellow, can't you get out of it ? '

Morris and I to the Royalty Theatre, Black-eyed
Susan. M. seldom goes to the Theatre, and is bored a
good deal. Poor enough fun, indeed. With M. to
Queen Square.

July 4. — Queen Square. — Morris and I to West-
minster Abbey. Deanery, Cloisters — pleasant.

Wednesday^ July 17. — Lymington. Fine ; hurry
to steamer. Excursion to visit the French Fleet at
Spithead. At Yarmouth a large Tennyson party comes
on board — ^A. T., his brother Charles and Mrs. Charles,
Hallam and Lionel, two daughters of Fredk. Tenny-
son, from Jersey, and Matilda T. A. T. and I collogue.
At Cowes a bustle : the Queen embarking in her
steam-yacht.

We see the Fleet at Spithead, ' like Milan Cathedral.'
Rain comes on. The Queen having reached the French
Fleet — Ironclads, huge, black and ugly, — royal salutes
thunder, the yards are manned, but we can see very
little for the thick weather. Ryde Pier, Tennyson and
I land, among others ; the ladies ill and draggled. Pier
Hotel. A. T., Charles T., and I go up High Street
and out into a field beyond, where we sit on a balk of
wood, looking at some cows grazing, and A. T. smoking.
He quotes a sonnet of his brother's about elms and
calls it daimonisch. We return by lower road and all
go aboard again, where A. T., Sir Andrew Hammond
and I dine. The weather still thick with frequent
showers ; some want to turn homewards without
running through the Fleet, etc., as arranged. Captain
Cribb will do whatever the passengers wish, — where-
upon a debate below. In an interval of silence a deep
voice is heard grumbling out — ' I know it's not the
least use my saying anything, but I'm for going back,'
This was A. T., but the majority were plainly for going
on, and soon we steamed in the rain close to the dark
sullen row of huge Ironclads. Then fireworks, and we
turned homewards. We nestled down near the boiler,

1867 LYMINGTON 155

A. T,, Lionel, W. A., and the rest — chatted, asked
riddles, and so we reached Yarmouth, where they
landed and I was left lonely again. Got back half an
hour after midnight.

July 19. — Writing Rambles. Walk, riverside,
honeysuckle, scabious, bluebell, ferns, more contented.

August 5. — Farringford, Bradley, etc. I continue to
like B. more and more.

Monday., August 19. — After dinner a thunderstorm
with rain. Night grows pitch dark. Tremendous
thunder and lightning for a long time. I put out my
candle and sit at window watching. The lightning
over the Island. A thunder-holt apparently falls on the
mainland eastwards. ' Tremble, thou wretch.'

Tuesday., August 20. — Hearing that the lightning did
mischief out eastwards, I cross Ferry, walk to Baddesley,
and find a two-story cottage burned, only the blackened
walls left ; the ivy and flowers scorched, and the apples
on some trees close by roasted on one side. Among a
heap of half-burnt things, mixed with charred wood and
ashes, lay some fused photographs of the old daguerreo-
type sort in metal frames, such as hang on cottage walls.
The Father stood grave and reserved, a girl, his
daughter, near him, both seeming stunned. The man
told me he went to the upper room during the thunder-
storm and sat down on a chair near the fireplace.
His wife was in bed, and two sons in another bed.
Suddenly the lightning darted through the thatched
roof and down through the floor of the room, and the
whole place was in a blaze in a moment. Up started
wife and sons, the feather beds were thrown out of
window, all rushed out into the rain, and nothing else
was saved from the fire. I ofi^ered to lend a little
money, but it was declined.

This was the work perhaps of the thunderbolt which
I saw fall last night ; the time fits. I could not find
that the lightning did anything as lightning save set the
house on fire ; this it did very effectually.

156 DORCHESTER 1867

Friday^ August 23. — Very fine. Steamer 11.40 to
Yarmouth. Tennyson on the quay, also his brother
Frederick and two daughters. A. T. is going to Lyme
Regis alone.

' 1 have wanted to see the Cobb there ever since I
first read Persuasion. Will you come } '

Can I possibly } Yes, I will !

We cross to Lymington. I rush up and make
hasty arrangements at Custom-House and lodgings ;
then off go A. T. and I, second class, to Dorchester.
A. T. smokes. (T. is a great novel reader, very fond of
Scott, but perhaps Miss Austen is his prime favourite.)

In our carriage a cockney Clock-winder, who gets
out at every Station to regulate the Railway Company's
clock.

Once safely incognito T. delights in talking to
people, but touch his personality and he shuts up like
an oyster. Ringwood, Wimborne, Poole harbour,
Wareham (mounds), Dorchester. Walk in the warm
afternoon, through stubble fields and reapers at work,
to the grand old Keltic fortress now called ' Maiden
Castle,' view the great green mounds, and lie on
a slope looking over autumnal landscape. Then
descend and return, finding corn-flowers and ' Succory
to match the sky.' Shall we stay to-night at
Dorchester } T. vacillates, at last agrees. We go to
the ' Antelope,' rooms not good — out, and into the
Museum, up a backyard, — British antiquities, Roman
pottery, etc. High Street, at its foot a clear little river,
the Frome. A tipsy cobbler accosts us. Riverside
walk through meadows. County Jail looks like a
pleasant residence. Return by back street to the
' Antelope,' which produces a pint of good port at dinner.
The twilight being fine I propose that we should visit
William Barnes, whom T. personally knows, and whose
Poems in the Dorset dialect T. knows and likes. I
show the way to Came Vicarage, where I had enjoyed
hospitality from a Saturday to a Monday a year or two

1867 LYME REGIS 157

before. The cottage-parsonage lies in a hollow among
trees about a mile from Dorchester, separated from the
public road by a little grass-plot and shrubbery. We
find the gate by starlight and reach the house door
between 9 and 10 o'clock. The worthy old Poet-
Vicar is truly delighted to see us, especially such a
guest as T. (whose poetry, he used to say, has a ' heart-
tone ' in it).

Barnes himself lets us in or comes out at once into
the passage — ' Here's an honour ! ' Little Miss Barnes
and Mrs. Shaw, a married daughter, appear. B. says,
' put out something ! put out something ! ' with hos-
pitable fervour, tho' we lack no bodily refreshment.
Barnes himself, by the way, though not a teetotaller, is
an abstemious man, very plain and inexpensive in his
diet. We are pressed to stay but can't. Talk of Maiden
Castle, Irish duns and raths. T. tells his story of his
car-driver, ' The King of Connaught.' Then we go,
Barnes with us to near Dorchester, talking of British
Antiquities, Wareham, Sun-worship, etc.

Saturday^ August 25. — Dorchester — To Maiden
Newton — Bridport. We start off to walk to Lyme
Regis, leaving bag to come by carrier. Uphill, view of
sea, down to Chidiock, pretty village, old church, flowery
houses. We push on (as like two tramps as need be)
along the dusty road to Martin's Lake, sea on one hand,
shore hills on the other. Down a long hill to Char-
mouth, where we have beer and cheese in a little inn,
then T. smokes in the porch and chats to the waitress.
She says she is from the Isle of Wight. * So am I,'
says T., — ' what part '^. ' ' From Cowes,' says the girl.
' I come from Freshwater,' says T., which surprises me,
— but he revels in the feeling of anonymosity. We
see Lyme below us and take a field-path.

Down into Lyme Regis, narrow old streets, modest
little Marine Parade. ' The Cups ' receives us in the
fair plump good-humoured person of a House-Keeper
Barmaid. T. gets a good bedroom and I a tolerable

158 LYME REGIS 1867

one ; we go into garden sloping down-hill and out by
some back steps to a Mrs. Porter's, where the F.
Palgraves are lodging — not in.

Back to ' The Cups ' and order dinner ; then by myself
up steep street to top of the town, pleasant, view of
shore and headlands, little white town far off. Dinner.
Then T. and I out and sit on bench facing the sea,
talking with friendly openness. Marriage, — ' how can
I hope to marry ? Some sweet good woman would
take me, if I could find her.' T. says, ' O yes,' adding,
' I used to rage against the social conditions that made
marriage so difficult.'

Sunday^ August 25. — Lyme Regis. Very fine. T. up
first and at my door. He has been on the Cobb, and
eats a hearty breakfast. We go down to the Cobb,
enjoying the sea, the breeze, the coast-view of Portland,
etc., and while we sit on the wall I read to him, out of
Persuasion., the passage where Louisa Musgrave hurts
her ankle. Palgrave comes, and we three (after Manor
House and some talk of Chatham) take a field-path
that brings us to Devonshire Hedge and past that
boundary into Devon. Lovely fields, an undercliff
with tumbled heaps of verdure, honeysuckle, hawthorns
and higher trees. Rocks peeping through the sward,
in which I peculiarly delight, reminding me of the
West of Ireland. I quote —

Bowery hollows crowned with summer sea.

T. (as usual), 'You don't say it properly ' — and repeats
it in his own sonorous manner, lingering with solemn
sweetness on every vowel sound,— a peculiar incomplete
cadence at the end. He modulates his cadences with
notable subtlety. A delightful place. We climb to the
top, find flat fields, and down again. Stile and path —
agrimony — we sit on a bank, talk of Morris, Ned
Jones, Swinburne, etc. Whitechapel Rock. Then
return by winding paths to the town. Miss Austen,
Scott, novel writing. P. counsels me to write a novel.

1867 LYMINGTON 159

Inn, dinner, fat waitress, port. In the coffee-room a
gentleman, who joins in conversation — High Church,
etc.. State of England, — and speaks well but guardedly.
T. talks freely — human instincts, Comte, etc.

We go to Palgrave's, who says, ' thought you were
not coming.' They smoke. When T. and I are walk-
ing back to the Inn he takes my arm, and by and by asks
me not to go back to Lymington. I (alas !) have to
reply that I must. ' Well then,' says T., ' arrange your
business there and come back.' I doubted if I could.
' Is it money } ' says he, — ' I'll pay your expenses.'
Most delicious ! that the man whose company I love
best should care about mine. Most mortifying ! for I
am tied by the leg.

Wednesday^ August 28. — Lymington. Letter from
M. D. Conway, ' on a little tour of the South Coast —
coming to Lymington with New York Tribune man to
visit you and try to persuade you to go to America.^ Letter
from Howell, at Hastings, giving an account of his
Wedding. Letter from Palgrave (dry) : ' Tennyson
asks me to say he hopes you will join us at Moreton
Hampstead — Dartmoor — au revoir.^

August 30. — Yacht Mirella. Faraday is gone.

Monday^ September 2. — Very fine. Pay pensioners
— Train 2.30 brings Conway, but not his Tribune
friend. Secure him a bed at the ' Nag's Head,' then we
walk out by Pennington. Talk much of Emerson —
Magazine-writing, etc. Letter from D. G. Rossetti !
' Shall I come to you } ' I reply, ' Yes, by all means.'

Sunday^ September 8. — Very fine. D. G. Rossetti
coming to-morrow. Read his Early Italian Poets.

Mem. — Use him nobly while your guest.

Wednesday^ September 11. — Rainy. By 8.40 even-
ing train behold D. G. R. ! he wears a ventilating hat,
something like a policeman's helmet, in which he looks
short and broad, having grown stout. We have supper
and sit up talking till three. He has been troubled with
his eyes, but has brought down an unfinished picture,

i6o LYMINGTON 1867

half-length female figure, intending to paint in back-
ground of roses.

Thursday^ September 12. — Very fine. My landlady
grumpy — ' didn't tell me of the gentleman,' etc. I
explain. We walk by the river-side to Roydon Farm,
path to Brockenhurst Church. Crown Inn. Rail to
Lymington. Dine 7 ; Bed about i. He had thought
Lymington to be on the very edge of the Forest.

Friday, September 13. — D. G. R. and I walk out to
Rope Hill, and Captain Barton shows us beautiful roses
and offers us some for the picture — a very kind man.
R. and I to Shirley Holmes and lie in the grassy circle
surrounded with oaks, hollies, etc., pierced with little
green alleys and tunnels, a fit place to act the Midsummer
Night's Dream in. We talk of the Forest Gypsies ; this
is one of their camping places. D. G. R. has some
notion of taking lodgings at Lymington.

Saturday, September 14. — Call D. G. R. He has
not yet opened his Picture case, so I undo the fastenings.
He finds that none of Captain B.'s roses are exactly of
the kind for him ; he wants the fresh-coloured loose-
leaved China rose.

I to Custom-House and then call at the Skinners,
Walk with Skinner, Q.C., and two daughters to Arne-
wood. The knowing and experienced talk of the
eminent lawyer makes me feel small.

I find D. G. R. on the sofa, has not been out, nor
looked at his picture, but been reading The Mill on the
Floss all day.

Sunday, September 15. — Call D. G. R. Registered
letter with bank notes, etc., ^\^^ : los. — for 'copy'
of Lilith. We write letters. Howell has proposed to
come here, R. writes to him, ' Come if you will.' Out
about 1.30 ; R. and I call at Pennington Cottage, and
young Skinner joins us. Milford Church — congregation
in it, but D. G. R. and S. go in all the same, take a look
and come out again — path, millpond, cliff, sea ; delight-
ful view. We talk of Home and other ' Spiritualists,'

1867 LYMINGTON i6i

about whom D. G. R. has at the least a curiosity.
Back by Keyhaven and the Marsh. We are late, but
D. G. R. wont hurry. He says in a conclusive tone :
' I never do anything I don't like.' Dine 6.30. We go
down and look at the river by moonlight. Bed about 2.
I argue that Maggie TulUver's lover Stephen is made
too mean and commonplace : R. doesn't agree.

Monday^ September 16. — Have had several pressing
notes from Mrs. Cameron to come and bring D. G. R.
to her — ' photograph you both.' 1 ask him will he
come to-day. Decidedly, ' No ! ' We walk through
Sowley Copse and lie under an oak by the pond-side,
reed-beds. R. says, ' You ought to have been a land-
scape painter. You notice everything.' (Sometimes to
the length of boredom, perhaps he meant.)

Then to Norley and the cottage burnt by lightning-
stroke. The scorched walls and trees remain much as
when I saw them. An old woman, who had been in the
house when it took fire, told us she was ' all skivered
with sparks.' R.'s comment on the whole was this —
' What a damned world where such things can happen ! '
In the garden was a little clump of box dipt into
the form of an arm-chair ; R. wanted to buy this, have
it dug up and transplanted to his garden at Chelsea, but
the bargain did not take effect. The live chair tickled
his imagination. (He afterwards got a similar box-bush
chair transplanted to his garden, but it soon died there.)
September 17. — I try to get R. over to the Island and
coax him as far as the pier, but it is rather windy, and
he entirely objects to be sea-sick, and doesn't want to
see either Mrs. Cameron or Tennyson. He takes no
interest whatever in the sea, ships, boats, etc. We go
by 1.45 train to Brockenhurst and walk by Whitley
Wood to Lyndhurst — see Leighton's fresco in the church.
Returning, we go over a roomy cottage-villa on the
roadside, 'To Let,' with a garden behind, and Rossetti
says in his emphatic tone, ' I think I had better take it
at once ! '

ib2 LYMINGTON 1867

Wednesday^ September 18. — Fine — D. G. R. and I
walk, to Boldre Church, Gilpin's tomb and its inscription ;
we talk of ' immortality,' but nothing new, and of
' suicide,' which R. thinks ' silly.' There are traces of
superstition noticeable in him, none of religion. Back
by Pilley and Walhampton House. I visit the
Skinners : they are going to Arundel. Young Skinner
walks back with me. We find D. G. R. on the sofa.

Thursday^ September 19. — R. and I look round the
furniture brokers, he buys an old mirror and several
other things ' for a song,' but they will have to be done
up, ' otherwise you fill your house with dinginess.'
Then a walk. R. walks very characteristically, with a
peculiar lounging gait, often trailing the point of his
umbrella on the ground, but still obstinately pushing on
and making way, he humming the while with closed
teeth, in the intervals of talk, not a tune or anything
like one but what sounds like a sotto voce note of
defiance to the Universe. Then suddenly he will fling
himself down somewhere and refuse to stir an inch
further. His favourite attitude — on his back, one knee
raised, hands behind head. On a sofa he often, too,
curls himself up like a cat. He very seldom takes
particular notice of anything as he goes, and cares
nothing about natural history, or science in any form or
degree. It is plain that the simple, the natural, the
naive are merely insipid in his mouth ; he must have
strong savours, in art, in literature and in life. Colours,
forms, sensations are required to be pungent, mordant.
In poetry he desires spasmodic passion, and emphatic,
partly archaic, diction. He cannot endure Wordsworth,
any more than I can S. He sees nothing in Lovelace's
' Tell me not. Sweet, I am unkind.' In foreign poetry,
he is drawn to Dante by inheritance (Milton, by the
way, he dislikes) ; in France he is interested by Villon
and some others of the old lyric writers, in Germany by
nobody. To Greek Literature he seems to owe nothing,
nor to Greek Art, directly. In Latin poetry he has

1867 LYMINGTON 163

turned to one or two things of Catullus for sake of the
subjects. English imaginative literature — Poems and
Tales, here lies his pabulum : Shakespeare, the old
Ballads, Blake, Keats, Shelley, Browning, Mrs. Browning,
Tennyson, Poe being first favourites, and now Swin-
burne. Wuthering Heights is a Koh-i-noor among
novels, Sidonia the Sorceress ' a stunner.' Any writing
that with the least competency assumes an imaginative
form, or any criticism on the like, attracts his attention
more or less ; and he has discovered in obscurity, and
in some cases helped to rescue from it, at least in his
own circle, various unlucky books ; those, for example,
of Ebenezer Jones and Wells, authors of Joseph and
His Brethren and Stories after Nature. About these
and other matters Rossetti is chivalrously bold in
announcing and defending his opinions, and he has the
valuable quality of knowing what he likes and sticking
to it. In Painting the Early Italians with their quaint-
ness and strong rich colouring have magnetised him.
In Sculpture he only cares for picturesque and grotesque
qualities, and of Architecture as such takes, I think, no
notice at all.

Friday^ September 20. — D. G. R. and I take a short
walk to Pennington, then early dinner, and he departs
by the 5.45 train, I going with him to Brocken-
hurst. He did up his picture again without having
put a single touch upon it ; and while down here indeed
never once handled brush or pencil, partly to save his eves.

September 30. — Custom -House accounts. French
lesson from M. Meurzet.

Tuesday^ October 8. — Steamer to Yarmouth. To
Mrs. Cameron's, Henry Taylor, and his daughter Emily.
Luncheon. To Farringford, and walk with A. T. to
near Alum Bay. He thinks ' England is going down '
— ' Christianity becoming extinct ? There's something
miraculous in man.' ' There's more in Christianity
than people now think.'

Publisher P. and rumours of insolvency, etc.

1 64 LONDON 1867

Friday^ October 11. — To London — Waterloo at 3.
Cab to Chelsea, being invited to stay with D. G. R.
Well received ; Dinner in lower room, Fanny, Howell,
Madox Brown — Howell's stories, himself an actor in
all (' actor ' in the stage sense) ? He was at York
once at the time of a Convocation of Clergy, he had an
uncle an Archdeacon, and was allowed to dine with the
Clergy one evening, including several Bishops : ' They
all got drunk,' said Howell with historic simplicity.
Queer stories, such as Sir Robert Walpole used to
encourage. In the evening Dunn, R.'s assistant and
copyist. All sit late and supper being suggested,
Howell and Dunn go down to the kitchen and bring
up meat ; H. says he ' saw a mouse eating a haddock '
downstairs. 3 o'clock, R. goes to bed, Howell and
Dunn go out in the rain to look for a cab, Madox Brown
and I wait, sleepy, in hall — cab at last.

Saturday, October 12. — Studio — Sibyl (with roses),
Iseult, etc. ; D. G. R., F. Call at Ned's and walk with
him in the Park : soppy and foggy.

Monday 14. — Note from Froude about Swift paper
for Fraser} Evening, with D. G. R. to Ned's. R.
lolls and runs down Raffael, Ned and Webb remon-
strate. No music. R. and I walking back take wrong
turn — ' This is bl — y ! ' He is very fond ot this expletive
— as well as other phrases (F. sometimes says, ' Rizetti,
I shall leave the room ! — I'll put you out in the scullery ! '
etc.). Lounging chat till i or 2, with rusks and
sherry.

Tuesday, October 15. — Garden ; fierce Virginian owls
which dash against the bars of their cage to get at you
as you turn away : other creatures. Taylor's estimate
of Household Expenses ('for Greengrocer, ^58,' and
so on), ending with, ' This does not include Wild Beasts.'
I sit over proofs all day in the big room — post them.
Call at Morris's, ' out of town.' At Mrs. Rossetti's,

^ Allingham's paper, afterwards published in his volume of Varieties
in Prose.

1867 LONDON 165

Euston Square. The dear old lady looking strong
still, with her handsome full-coloured face and rich-
toned voice of sincere and touching intonations. She
says nothing clever but it's always a pleasure to be near
her. Miss R., Christina, and Miss Heaton. Mrs. R.
expresses her pleasure at Gabriel's having visited me,
thinks it has done him good, talks as if 1 were a sort
of Mentor to him, which makes me feel rather ashamed.
Away, rain, cab to Fitzroy Square ; upstairs, Madox
Brown, Mrs. B., Lucy, in green dress, Katty, young
half-sister with fair hair ; Marshall, Dunn. Piano,
Grog.

Wednesday^ October 16. — Call on Ned ; Italian
Model, a peasant woman — at Mr. Simon's. Call
on Froude. Back to Chelsea, then D. G. R. "^and
I to the Cafe de I'Europe, Haymarket, where we
meet Ned and dine. Ned goes, R. and I walk to
Queen's Square, Morris out. On the way I buy (for
I OS.) an old painting on panel, 'Virgin and Child,' ^
which R. says is ' Flemish, before Rubens, Porbus
time.' Cab to Euston Road, to Taylor's lodging.
T. Morris, Webb, D. G. R. lounges. I say the rhyme
about ' There's a louse on my back Twenty years old ! '
(which I heard Tennyson give). Morris repeats it with
furious emphasis and gestures, making us all shout with
laughter. Poor Taylor — tall, with eager hatchet face
— is ghastly thin but full of mental energy — vociferates,
then must stop to cough. ' Won't go away this winter.'

Cheyne Walk — call at Carlyle's. When the door
opens, see him in the passage ; he says in an angry voice
— ' Go away, sir ! I can do nothing with you.' I go
away, with reflections many and black. What can it
mean }

Call on Froude at Record Office, make up, and
renew FrajdT agreement in a way. He says 'Byron
was the greatest man of the century — greater than
Alfred ' {i.e. A. T.). I tell of Carlyle's rebufl^ which

1 Now in Mrs. Allingham's possession.

1 66 LYMINGTON 1867

surprises him ; says he has strange moods. Cheyne
walk, D, G. R. and I (not like old times).

Thursday^ October 17. — Cheyne Walk, pack up, R.
lolling on the bed ; cab to Waterloo — train to Lymington.

N.B. — Very kind letter from Carlyle — did not
know me that day I called ; ' must blame my poor old
eyes. Allingham's company would have been very
welcome to me,' How I have tormented myself!

November 11. — Lymington. Evening, reading
Rousseau with M. Meurzet. Newsroom, Waterside.

Thursday^ November 14. — Gloomy day. Carlyle's
'Shooting Niagara' — object to parts. Carlylus Tyrannus.

Friday^ November 15. — Fine. Poetry again — in
spite of T. C.

Walk, Walhampton Hill, Portmore firs, hedges,
ferns, yellow oakleaves, harebells, children sweeping
up fallen leaves. Ferry.

Monday y November ic^. — Fine gray day ; Mrs Clough
has written to say she is coming, I meet her at 1 1 . 1 7
train and cross with her to Island : with her, her little
Blanche Athena, dark-eyed, pleasant, sweet little mouth.
At Yarmouth the Tennyson carriage. Farringford,
luncheon. A. T. on ' the Fenians.' Prince Consort's
Book, the Queen's autograph inscription —

'Alfred Tennyson, Esq.,

Who so truly admired and appreciated the character of her
beloved Husband. Victoria R.'

Tuesday, November 26. — My last visit to London
was an unhappy one. In art, and still more in life, R.
and I have discords not to be resolved. Should we
ever have been or supposed ourselves such friends in
early days if we had lived constantly near each other ^
Has he changed ^ If I have I am not aware of it. ' I
loathe and despise family life ! ' he said.

I long and pray for it — and O, how the years slip
away ! The only comfort is, ' You might have made a

1867 FRESHWATER 167

mistake, an irremediable one — and it's not too late even
yet ! ' The ' Curtis ' Ballad.

Tuesday, December 24. — Steamer ; Parry ^ meets me,
we walk by muddy path and copse to Hook Hill : his
wife and baby (3 days old), both well ; luncheon. Take
up my quarters with Mrs, Curry at Myrtle Cottage, then
to Farringford with Parry. I introduce him to Mrs.
Tennyson. He soon retires. A. T. comes in with Sir
John Simeon. I go up the Downs alone, to Beacon ;
wide sea, misty landscape, western light, melancholy.
Myrtle Cottage — dine at Farringford, no guests. T.
rages against the Fenians — ' Kelts are all mad furious
fools ! '

Irish landscape — 'I saw wonderful things there —
twenty different showers at once on a great expanse — a
vast yellow cloud with a little bit of rainbow stuck on
one corner ' (T. swept his arm round for the cloud and
then gave a nick in the air with his thumb for the bit
of rainbow) — ' I wish I could bring these things in I I
was travelling in Kerry through a great black landscape
— bogs. A lady beside me asked how I liked the
country ; I said, it might be greener ; to which she
replied indignantly, " And where then would the poor
man cut his bit of turf V '

Away at 1 1 to Myrtle Cottage.

Wednesday, December 25. — Parry's ; walk with him
to sea-side, black rocks, breakers ghostly white, light at
sea. Back with him, tea. His childhood, etc. We walk
along the dark road to Albion Hotel, Mr. and Mrs.
Murrow personal acquaintances of C. P. P. tells of
his tribulations when his wife was confined. No bed,
lay down by a fire and went to sleep, wakened by
woman putting on pots and kettles ; went into another
room and fell asleep by the fire, wakened by some one
putting on pots and kettles there ; went out, nearly
asleep, and lay down in a passage, wakened by the
Doctor wiping his boots upon him, at which the

1 Clinton Parry, son of Gambler Parry, the architect.

1 68 LYMINGTON 1867

Murrows laugh. Walking back P. explains to me
that Murrow (a Welshman) is ' a high Freemason ' —
* He doesn't call me " Sir " when we're alone. If you're
a Mason your Servant may be a higher Mason than
you. Garibaldi head of the Italian Masons, which
added greatly to his power. L. Napoleon a High
Mason, etc'

Has Freemasonry any real importance in the world's
affairs ? or is most of this mythical .''

Friday, December 27. — Myrtle Cottage, fine, misty.
Farringford. T. in his big cloak on lawn.

' Poe on metres — he knows nothing about them.'

Tauchnitz — T.'s poems smuggled in ; T. complained ;
Treasury letter, ' the public complain of much search-
ing.' Boys at football. Cold wind, fog, gray ; slender
moon in the west, and Venus. Myrtle Cottage. To
Farringford. Dine in the study — jokes and puns —
after dinner, pleasant talk.

T. — ' We remember Summer Walks in Winter,
Winter in Summer.'

T. reads the newspaper into metre.

T. says : ' Boys become beasts for a time — no con-
science : I don't know what it means,

' I hate publishing ! The Americans forced me into
it again. I had my things nice and right, but when I
found they were going to publish the old forms I said,
By Jove, that won't do ! — My whole living is from the
sale of my books.'

He went upstairs by himself. When he came down
again spoke of Greek Poetry, — ' The Odyssey the most
delightful book in the world. Blank verse is the only
English metre to translate Homer in, and even that will
not do. Lofty Scriptural prose would be best.'

Of Latin Poetry he said, ' Virgil's is the most
finished of any ; Catullus is exquisite ; Lucretius wonder-
ful, but much of him hard and tiresome to read, and
very obscure.' Away — stars — Bed about i,

Saturday^ December 28, — Myrtle Cottage, cold, hoar-

1867 FRESHWATER 169

frost, misty. Farringford, Lionel and his fiddle.
Henry Cameron comes, for rabbit-hunting. I walk to
Yarmouth, pretty byroad to shore, hartstongue ferns,
a primrose in bloom. Quay, Hallam with carriage and
ponies. Cold, foggy wind, gray sea. Steamer comes
in with Woolner and Mr. W. G. Clark of Cambridge.
We three walk off by shore and byroad. Show them
primrose — ' The rath primrose that forsaken dies.'
T.'s lines : —

the gloomy brewer's soul
Went by me, like a stork :

Why ' Stork .'' ' Clark says because the Stork was
an antimonarchical emblem.

To Farringford. At dinner Mr. Clark talks of
Rome, Greece, foreign travel (pleasant life). T.
denounces publisher P. Says he is trying Hebrew.

' Do you (to Clark) know any Hebrew .? '

C. — ' Only the letters.'

T. — ' Exactly ! the priests can't read their own
sacred books.'

C. (rather disconcerted). — ' The New Testament I
can, more or less.' (One forgets that C. is a Rev.)

Monday^ December 30. — Dine at Farringford. T.
discourses on ' Maud ' : I make him laugh by misquoting
lines about the shell, thus —

' Did he stand at his own front-door

With a diamond stud in his frill ? '

Tuesday^ 31. — Myrtle Cottage — fine. Take leave
at Farringford and at Mrs. Cameron's. Steamer to
Lymington, Custom-House, resume charge ; lodgings
— no dinner — all in confusion — 'not expected' —
Christmas Tree in Kitchen ; make the best of it and
give a picture to the lottery. Look over Midsummer
Night's Dream. No feeling about the Old Year, save
of depression.

CHAPTER X

1868

January i. — Lymington. Pay pensioners. Engaged
to go to Lyndhurst to-day. 5.45 train to Brocken-
hurst, Aide's carriage, Forest Bank, A. and Mrs. A.,
dinner at 7. Then to Sir Charles Burrard's. We read
the Midsummer Nighfs Dream, which goes well.

Monday, January 20. — Fine ; walk to Pitt's Deep —
vernal and pleasant ; Coastguard station. Beautiful
Sowley Copse — men destroying it by order of Lord
Henry Scott, since he finds he cannot close up the foot-
path— what a noble action !

Tuesday, January 2 1 . — Fine ; Steamer brings Mr.
Cameron, white-haired Mrs. Prinsep, etc., for London.
I go with them as far as Brockenhurst, pleasant. Walk
to Lyndhurst, vernal, call at Miss Dickson's, poorly ;
friendly chat. She says, ' I thought you surly at first,
— like you now, — thrown away at Lymington.' Hurry
to Brockenhurst, hot, catch train. Dine 7 — rain —
sleep better.

Wednesday , January 11. — Rainy. Sir Percy Shelley
runs after me, and takes me aboard his yacht En-
chantress, pleasant chat with Lady Shelley: 'Come to
us to-morrow evening, if we're not gone.' Street —
stars,

Thursday, January 23. — Fine, frostyish ; Enchantress
gone. Walk, Pennington, etc.

Monday, February 3. — To London — very fine day.

170

1868 LONDON 171

Mr. Burnett at Custom-House ; away 1.45. Clapham
Junction ; lovely evening, moon, Jupiter and Venus.
Lavender Sweep — friendly welcome as ever. Talk
with Tom Taylor.

A Comedy in hand, For Love or Money ; Mrs. T.
writing it from Tom's dictation ; they do some this
evening.

Tuesday, February 4. — Lavender Sweep, called at
7.30 ; WyclifFe, Lucy — Breakfast. In with T. T. to
Victoria. National Gallery, Egyptian Hall, Dudley
Gallery. Bond St., Mrs. Cameron's Exhibition of
Photographs, in charge of a pretty Brunette (Miss Kate
Shepherd) with sweet smile. Lavender Sweep — dinner.
Evening, T. T. dictating comedy, Mrs. T. writing, I
suggesting sometimes. Sleepy, yet awake in the night.

JVednesday, February 5. — Fine but windy. Walk
through old Wandsworth, like a country town, to
Putney, where are some large Georgian houses. Call
on Arthur Hughes, whose house faces the river, most
friendly. Arty, a pretty boy, little boy, girl.

Studio, pleasant chat ; yard, children feeding two
tame deer. A. H. walks with me to near Clapham.

T. T.'s, dress to dine at Conway's — find them at
dinner on the basement floor, Mr. and Mrs. C. and
Mr. Smalley, European Correspondent of New York
Tribune — lively chat. Then to Peter Taylor's, an
evening gathering. Conway and I walk, fine starry
night. Bed at his house ; lie long awake.

Friday, February 7. — Lavender Sweep — rail to
Chelsea, cab to Onslow Gardens and breakfast with
Froude, Mrs. F., two daughters, governess ; chat.
Study, where he has his cigar — State papers on Ireland,
praises my prose style. I feel awkward with him.
Call at Miss Thackeray's, close bv ; find her writing —
very friendly. Mrs. Cameron's Exhibition — ' I blew
the trumpet for it in the Pall Mall.'

Enter Mr. Leslie Stephen, tall and pale. Away
(pleasant). Call on Carlyle at 3. Find him in upstairs

172 LONDON 1868

room, cap on, smoking. He talks of the Ballad of
Tranent Muir^ by Skirving, then takes me out with him
to walk, Hyde Park, Bayswater, and back.

' Leigh Hunt a fine kind of man. I used to read
the Examiner with much interest when I was living
down in Scotland. Some used to talk of him as a
frivolous fellow, but when I saw him I found he had a
face as serious as death.' I asked C. if he dreamed
much.

' Dreams ! my dreams are always disagreeable —
mere confusions — losing my clothes and the like,
nothing beautiful. The same dreams go on night after
night for a long time. I am a worse man in my dreams
than when awake — do cowardly acts, dream of being
tried for a crime. I long ago came to the conclusion
that my dreams are of no importance to me whatever.

' Ireland — education at National Schools, not good,
what I saw of it, except at Glasnevin. To teach read-
ing and writing is not education : little good will follow
from that. I used to think almost every good would
follow from that. You must teach work^ you must
drill.

' Criminal classes : I went with a Colonel of the
Guards to Whitechapel to see some of the dens, a few
policemen with us ; it was very melancholy, the places
were not dirty in general. The police know all the
regular rogues. In one place we heard some girls
laughing behind a screen ; I said in a rather loud voice,
" God pity you ! " upon which they suddenly fell silent.
We seemed to give no offence where we came ; but
one woman, tipsy, said to one of our policemen,
*' You're showing us to the Gentlemen, but if they want
to see the greatest rascal in London they'll take a look
at yourself, you — unmentionable ! " which I thought
to be not far from the truth.'

C. spent three days on the Grand Jury at Clerken-
well, over trivial cases, ' a great loss of time.'

' Your " Ramble in the New Forest " very pretty and

i86S LONDON 173

pleasant, the only thing in the Magazine I could read.
But you are rather losing your time. Go on with your
book on Ireland, I advise you.'

Back at 5 Cheyne Row, we find a carriage at the
door and a demonstrative man in the hall, who exclaims,
' So I have found you ! '

C. asks me to come again. I propose Sunday, my
only free day, but he says ' engaged on that day,' and
adds, ' it is unfortunate ' — evidently regretting that we
cannot meet again this time, as I also assuredly do.
(To-morrow I am engaged to lunch at Browning's.)
Over Battersea Bridge and up Pig Hill. Lavender
Sweep. Dinner — very sleepy, yet cannot sleep much.

Saturday^ February 8. — To Warwick Crescent.
Browning in his study, with proof sheets of his new
edition in six vols.

Tennyson and the Magazines ; The Spiteful Letter^
B. said, ' I like the kind tone of it, but I think it gives
a wrong view about Fame. What absurdity to say,
" Wait a little and all will be past ! " You cannot say
that of anything in life.

Our echoes roll from soul to soul
And live for ever and for ever.

I like that better ! '

Then we sat down to a luncheon-dinner. R. B.,
Miss B. and self. B. said the Secretary of the A. Club
had posted his name as a defaulter, tho' the subscription
had been duly paid by his banker. ' I'll come down on
him like thunder ! It's not good to have the reputation
of being an easy-going man. I'll ask him how this
blunder came? "Blunder, sir.'*" he says — upon which
I open fire ! '

B. shows me, in bird's-eye view only, the MS. of a
new Poem to be printed in July.

I go, meaning to walk to Chelsea and call on
Rossetti. R. B. says he will walk with me and seems
inclined to come on and see R. ' How long will it take .^ '

174 LYMINGTON 1868

We cross Kensington Gardens, but opposite S. Kensington
Museum R. B. finds he can't come further. — ' Give my
love to Rossetti.' I give up Chelsea and walk towards
Fulham ; find the Grange with some trouble, Ned J.,
Mrs. J., Mr. W. — dinner, pleasant chat. Mr. W.,
learned in such, sings old Italian music by Stradella and
others. Baby Margaret. Pleasant House and large
garden. Very friendly. Catch train. Lavender Sweep
— the T. T.s not in yet.

Monday ^ February 10. — Very fine. Lavender Sweep,
walk, Clapham Common, pretty. Train to Lyming-
ton. Custom-House, relieve Burnett and take up old
routine.

Wednesday^ February 12. — Very fine. Walk, EfFord
Copse, first primroses ; the Island blue, sweet air,
thrushes. Dine — out. Stars — from some bird a
sudden single gush of song : a night-warbler } Spiritual
Wives — StufF !

Tuesday ^February 18. — Browning's 'Sludge,' etc.

Mem. — Too often a want of solid basis for R. B.'s
brilliant and astounding cleverness. A Blot in the
''Scutcheon is solid. How try to account for B.'s twists
and turns } I cannot. He has been and still is very
dear to me. But I can no longer commit myself to
his hands in faith and trust. Neither can I allow the
faintest shadow of a suspicion to dwell in my mind
that his genius may have a leaven of quackery. Yet,
alas ! he is not solid — which is a very different thing
from prosaic. A Midsummer Night's Dream is as
solid as anything in literature ; has imaginative cohe-
rency and consistency in perfection. Looking at forms
of poetic expression, there is not a single utterance in
Shakespeare, or of Dante as far as I know, enigmatic
in the same sense as so many of Browning's are. If
you suspect, and sometimes find out, that riddles pre-
sented to you with Sphinxian solemnity have no answers
that really fit them, your curiosity is apt to fall towards
freezing point, if not below it. Yet I always end by

1868 FRESHWATER 175

striking my breast in penitential mood and crying
out, ' O rich mind ! wonderful Poet ! strange great
man ! '

Thursday^ February 20. — Lymington. Walk, EfFord,
poor little moles executed, hanging on twigs. Talk
with the Gamekeeper, who is considerably like Carlyle
in person : Grouse — pheasants. 1 try to explain
something of Darwin's researches. Keeper's dog has
to be trained to fly at a man, so as to be ready for
poachers : ' I likes a good savage dog,'

Tuesday^ March i 7. — Windy. Steamer to Yarmouth,
walk to Farringford, A. T. friendly. His visit to
Cambridge ' delightful,'

' What a dream of bliss to an Undergraduate, to
have lodgings and board for half a week at the Lodge ! '

Upstairs, wt^ window in corner of study : ' have
desired it for years, sixteen years — done while I was
away.'

Thursday^ March 19. — Birthday. Begin sad ; grow
cheerfuller. C. Parry and wife from Island ; a great
rainbow. Tea at F. St. Barbe's.

Saturday^ March 21. — More cheerful again, but
Emma vexatious. O for a house of one's own !
* Mary ' — ' Squire Curtis.' ^ Sleep better.

Thursday^ April 9. — Cross to Freshwater ; Mrs.
Norman (Mrs, Cameron's daughter), with her husband
and children. He is of Baring Brothers. ' His God-
father,' Mrs, C, said, 'gave him ^100,000 one
morning,' as a little surprise, Farringford — A, T. on
lawn, friendly as usual : ' Come to-night.'

Miss Thackeray asks me to dinner ; Fitzjames
Stephen coming to-morrow.'

Friday^ April 10. — Good Friday — Mrs. Curry's,
Miss Thackeray's : Fitzjames Stephen, tall, burly,
pleasant, the 'makings' of a judge, as we say in Ireland;
plain in dress.

To Farringford by field-path. Miss T., Fitzjames S.

1 AUingham's poems.

176 LYMINGTON 1868

and I — beautiful sunlit prospects, Yarmouth in the dis-
tance, gleaming river. They go in — I flee. Luncheon
at Miss T.'s. We find A. T. and walk to the Beacon ;
meet one stranger, at sight of whom A. T. nearly
turns back.

Lincolnshire stories. Preachers : ' Coom in your
rags, coom in your filth, Jesus'll take ye, Jesus won't
refuse ye.' 'Time has two ends, and the Law cooms
down wi' a bang ! ' ' Glory ' a very favourite word.

Lincolnshire manners. ' One of my brothers met a
man in the lane near our house and said in a friendly
voice, "Good-night ! " to which the man replied, "Good
night — and dom you ! " I asked a man one day, " Do
you know what o'clock it is ? " he answered, " Noa ! and
I don't want to." '

Grace said by Dissenting Minister according to the
nature of the feast. If a poor one, he snivelled and
sneered in a thin voice, ' O Lord, bless these miserable
creatures to our use,' etc. ; if a good spread, he rolled
out in unctuous tones : ' We desire to thank Thee, O
Lord, for all these mercies Thou hast provided for us.'

April 2 2^. — Lymington. Launch of a yacht. Walk
to Sowley Pond. Lord Henry Scott, after trying
illegally to close the Path (charming shady short-cut
from the dusty road) and failing, has now cut down
the trees and grubbed up all the hazels and hollies,
and left it a path through a bare field. Oaks lying
on the ground, piles of oak bark. The Magistrates
decided against his claim to shut the Path, the Judges
at Winchester decided against it, and now, instead of
humbly apologising, his Lordship does this !

Monday, May 4. — Fine. Cross to Yarmouth.
Servant girl says, ' I took your advice, sir, not to go to
London ' ; had forgotten it, but it was good advice —
wonder whether my habit of talking with everybody
ever does real good ^ Perhaps.

Yarmouth, The King's Head, Mary Blandford,
drawing beer, gives me a lily of the valley ! Beer not-

1868 LONDON 177

withstanding, a ladylike girl. Over Bridge, Golden
Hill with gorse in bloom (whence the name ?), nightin-
gale singing. Myrtle Cottage : yes, Mrs. Curry can
give me a room. Farringford — Mrs. T. just going to
drive, invites me into carriage, Mrs. T., Mr. Lecky
and I, Hallam on the box. We go by Afton and
near Brook.

L. does not see any use in knowing Authors
personally. In fact personality does not interest him
in any case, I suspect. We don't agree, evidently.
Still, we agree to get on our legs and walk back
together over the Downs. Ireland is low now (he
thhiks), intellectually : Tyndall her best representative.
He greatly admires Macaulay, also Buckle. Knows
Carlyle, but seldom if ever agrees with him. Dean
Milman stands high in L.'s estimation, ' a learned man
and very liberal, etc'

Joke (Milman's ?) — ' Churchmen may be divided
into Platitudinarians, Latitudinarians, and Altitudi-
narians.' I proposed to add ' Denarians,' i.e. loaves
and fishes men, but the vowel is changed.

Friday, May 15. — Having got leave of absence, I go
to London,

May 18. — To 16 Onslow Gardens to accept Miss
Thackeray's invitation. Find her with John Leech's
daughter Ada, thirteen, in black, very tall and slender,
with large eyes, long hair, full lips, looking sad : (Miss
T. as usual the Samaritan). Miss T. with proofs of a
story. ' Give it a name,' she says : ' Balm of Gilead '
suggested. Invited to Mrs. Barnard's for this evening.
' I don't want to go,' says Miss T., and we all sit on in
a dim light, talking peacefully.

Tuesday, May 19. — 18 Neville St. To 16 Onslow
Gardens. Breakfast 9.30, Miss T., Mrs. Stephen ; warm
day. With Leslie S. to Mrs. Brookfield's ; children's
party. Magdalen B., large fair girl of seventeen ; second
Miss Halle in blue, merry ; younger, Hke a Vandyck ;
May Sartoris ; Margery and Annie T., shy, I carry

178 LONDON 1868

Annie ; Enter Miss Thackeray, Mrs. Marshall. Mrs.
Brookfield asks me to stay, and a merry joyous feast it
is, seven lively girls, the children at a long table — a picnic
indoors. Upstairs and dance Sir Roger, May S. and
I ; then a reel. She is going to a Ball to-night, this
is merely a w^het. Back to Neville Street, and with
Miss Thackeray and Mrs. Stephen to Mrs. Procter's.
Mrs. P., daughter Edith. Old Barry Cornvs^all, an
indistinct and almost mute figure, sitting on the landing ;
Robert Browning (who asks me for Friday) and his
sister ; Samuel Laurence, Leighton, etc. Box of cab
— 16 Onslow Gardens. 'Do have something! but O,
everything is locked up by Justine, and she's gone to
bed ! So Good-night.'

Thursday^ May 21. — 18 Neville St. Cab to Albe-
marle St. and breakfast with Lecky. Books on Witch-
craft, etc., and on Ireland. Rooms very quiet, no look-
out, has them from year to year : Christianity — morals,
pagan and mediaeval.

Meet Palgrave, ' choosing a picture' ; civil, walk with
him to York Gate : ' stay and dine ^ ' yes.

To Prince's Gate, Mr. Huth, Mrs. and Miss H.,
various guests, including Miss Thackeray and her sister.
Library, gorgeous and rare books ; all the early editions of
Shakespeare. Mr. H. unlocks and lets me handle some.

To Mrs. Barnard's, South Eaton Place. Madame
Sainton-Dolby, Miss Ingelow. Little Miss Parr, who
writes novels as ' Holme Lee,' looked nice in a high
dress of lavender silk, like a quiet little old-maidish
governess. Miss Thackeray accosted her, and so did
I ; we spoke of the Isle of Wight, New Forest, etc.
' London fatigues me,' she said : ' going to Dulwich
to-morrow.' As we drove home Miss Thackeray
exclaimed of one of the guests ; ' Horrid woman ! she
said to me, " I have been much pleased with some of
your efforts," and, *' You must have felt leaving that
nice house in Palace Gardens ! " but little Holme Lee's
a duck.'

1868 LONDON 179

May 11. — Breakfast with Froude, 5 Onslow Gardens
— wife, two girls, little boy : Ireland, English cruelties,
massacre of women and children on Raghlin Island,
Sorley Buie looking on from mainland — ' he tore and
tormented himself,' Library : F. speaks of my Fraser
articles, says ' Carlyle has a greater regard for you
than for anybody almost.' Cab to Browning's, invited
to luncheon. R. B. (grayer).

Tennyson, the Magazines, Morris's Earthly Para-
dise^ etc.

' We ought to take up the ball at the furthest point
to which it has been thrown. I should be sorry to
think that any one was in advance in any way of me in
my new Poem.' Perhaps not quite knowing what to
say I remarked bashfully : —

*I have always been a believer in you,' or to that effect.

R. B. — * I am glad to believe that, for your own
sake among other things.'

When he went out, I stayed for a chat with Miss
Sarianna. ' Robert, after writing Pauline, went to
St. Petersburg, overland, in connection with a diplomatic
mission, expenses only paid, and returned the same way
after six weeks' residence at St. Petersburg. He saw
the breaking up of the ice on the Neva, and the
ceremony of declaring the river open.'

Away — passing through Leicester Square, meet
Alan Skinner, and walk with him in the flower avenue
of Covent Garden, talking of the Home trial, the Eyre
case, etc. Then we dine at Bertolini's pleasantly. I
show him the local curiosity, old Mr. Seymour, now
eighty-two, who has dined here every day for the last
forty-three years : he comes at 5, stays till 8, sits
always in the box on the left-hand of the fire-place as
you go up the room, which is kept for him at this
time of day ; has the joint, college pudding, a gill of
Marsala ; puts his feet up and sleeps or snoozes for
about twenty minutes, then reads the Daily News,
fidgeting a good deal with the paper, for his hands

i8o LONDON 1868

tremble. Finally he puts on hat, buttons coat up to
the throat, straightens his spine and walks down the
middle of the room very stiff and wooden, driving off,
the waiter says, to his house somewhere near the
Regent's Park. I should mention that when he comes
in every evening the waiter who receives him invariably
says, ' Good evening, Mr. Seymour : you are looking
very well this evening, Mr. Seymour.' Looks like a
solitary old bachelor, lawyer or attorney, dried up,
penurious ; the daily tavern dinner a sort of loophole
glimpse of the outside world. Save a word or two to
the waiters he never speaks to any one at Bert's.
Skinner departed and 1 went into the Alhambra and
see some good dancing, but the opera-glass is a terrible
disenchanter. Next me a bald civil quiet gentleman
with his wife and daughters. Leotard on the ' trapeze '
wonderful.

May 25. — Lavender Sweep. To evening party at
Halle's. Mrs. Brookfield and her daughter, Mrs. and
Miss Sartoris — Leighton, Aid6, etc. — Santley, Titiens,
Trebelli (charming), Bettini, her husband, like a
German. Strauss plays violin.

I heard to-night some of the best music in London.
Did it enchant or even delight me } No. A grand
musical party is neither concert nor home-music ; and
besides, few public singers know how to sing in a
private room.

May 26. — Lunch at Browning's. Talk runs chiefly
on his forthcoming new Poem in many thousand lines.
He takes me into his study, and shows me the original
Book, a small brown quarto, printed account of the
trial of Count Guido, with some original MS. letters,
stitched in at the end pleading for his respite. B.
bought it off a stall in Florence for a few pence. He
has told the story over and over again to various
friends ; offered it to A. Trollope to turn into a novel,
but T, couldn't manage it ; then R. B. thought, ' why
not take it myself.'' '

1868 LONDON i8i

' I began it in rhymed couplets, like Laurence
Bloomfield^ but thought by and by I might as well have
my fling, and so turned to blank verse.'

At luncheon he went over the headings of the
chapters or books into which this very long Poem is
divided. ' And now ! can you advise me.'' I'm puzzled
about how to publish it. I want people not to turn
to the end, but to read through in proper order.
Magazine, you'll say : but no, I don't like the notion
of being sandwiched between Politics and Deer-
Stalking, say. I think of bringing it out in four
monthly volumes, giving people time to read and
digest it, part by part, but not to forget what has
gone before.'

Wednesday^ May 27. — Lavender Sweep ; very fine
— 11.30 to Clapham Junction and take train to Epsom
to see the Derby Race. Only one other person in my
carriage, young man from Southport near Liverpool.
Epsom, people on road, carriages crawling through
clouds of dust. Gypsies, etc. Sit on grass at Totten-
ham Corner and see first race without trouble. Then
down course and stand at rails opposite Grand Stand.
A pocket picked, dirty man accused, who says in candid
matter-of-fact way, ' I ain't got it.'

To Queen Square, to dine with Morris, and find,
just alighting, Mrs. Ned in a gorgeous yellow gown :
'tis a full dress party ! and I in velveteen jacket. Morris,
Ned J. (thin), D. G. R. (looking well), Boyce (' has been
ill'), F. M. Brown (oldened), Webb, Howell, Mr.
Wilfred Heeley, Publisher Ellis, and W. A. (ten men).
Mrs. Morris, Miss Burden, Mrs. Ned (gay), Mrs.
Howell, Mrs. Madox Brown (looks young with back
to the window), Lucy Brown, Miss Faulkner (I
between these), Mrs. Ellis, Miss Heeley (ten ladies).
Banquet, — ' Earthly Paradise,' I suggest, and Ned writes
this atop of the menu. A storm of talking. I away
with D. G. R. about i ; walk first, then cab to Cheyne
Walk, in and stay chatting and lounging till 3 in old

1 82 LYMINGTON 1868

fashion. ' Come to-morrow, and we'll go up together
to my mother's.'

I walk to Lavender Sweep in daylight, passing some
revellers from Cremorne, and to bed about 4.

June 8. — To Carlyle's about 3. He is writing, but
soon comes out for a walk. On the door-step we find
Sir Charles Dilke and Hepworth Dixon come to solicit
C.'s vote for the former. C. does not ask them in, and
on hearing their errand declares briefly, ' I never gave a
vote in my life,' whereupon they depart. He talked
to me of Parliament and its absurdity, and how foolish
for any man to desire to sit night after night for many
hours in an ill-ventilated room, listening to the most
tedious stuff, etc. etc. I took leave of him at Albert
Gate, ' going back to Lymington to-day.'

He said in shaking hands, ' You won't walk many
more times with me^ which made me sad.

June 20. — Lymington. Coach to Freshwater, Mrs.
Cameron's ; long wait for lunch. Mrs. C. and her
household take no note of time. Meet girls going up-
stairs in fancy dresses, Mrs. C. has been photographing
a group, and appears carrying glass negative in her
coUodionised hands. ' Magnificent ! to focus them all
in one picture, such an effort ! '

Enter Sir John Simeon with Mr. Austin Bruce (M.P.
for Merthyr-Tydvil). Sir J. presses me to go back
to Swainston with him. I hesitate, then agree, and we
walk off over the Downs. Dine at 8 — they talk of
Parliament behind the scenes : Dizzy often vinosus —
one evening he spoke in such a state (keeping his legs
with much difficulty) that Sir J. S. feared a public
scandal, and was in pain for the credit of the House.
{N.B. — Simeon is no scandal-monger.)

Monday^ July 20.- — Hot. Tennyson and Mrs. T.
on the steamer, 1 with them to Brockenhurst. ' To
London, the dentist ; then Scotland.' T. said of
Longfellow, ' A very gentlemanly man : seemed very
tired. We had ten at luncheon. They slept at the

,868 LYMINGTON 183

hotel, stayed two days. Little King Theodore of
Abyssinia now at Farringford with Captain Speedy.

* Longfellow — I didn't compliment him — told him
I didn't like his hexameters : he rather defended
them.'

We spoke of Swedenborg : T. says his Hell is
more striking than his Heaven ; praises Hinton's book
on Man and Nature. The up-train ; T. shakes my
hand warmly. It is always 'a real happiness to see him.
I walk to Queen's Bower, its brook and oak tree, back
by pretty path through New Park, and in by train.

Wednesday^ July 11. — Mrs. Cameron has a standing
and, I fear, incurable pique against me for not recognising
Henry Taylor as a great poet. Most gladly do I, any-
where, at any time, recognise a great poet, but I cannot
do so at second hand. Philip Van Artevelde is a
solid piece of work, with both form and substance ;
but, tho' written in verse, is the impression it leaves
more poetical than that left by Ivanhoe^ say .? The
* Literlude,' called The Lay of Elena, is a cultivated
effort, entirely out of place ; nothing can be more
modern in style, a mixture of Wordsworth, Coleridge,
Campbell and Henry Taylor, — the latter contributing a
certain pompous stiffness which he takes for dignity.
There is no magic in H. T.'s pen, whether it write
blank verse or rhyme. Rossetti much admires the two
snatches of song in the second part of Philip ; — they
have, for one thing, the flavour of quaintness which his
palate requires. ' Quoth tongue ' is pithy and pathetic,
but as to

Down lay in a nook my lady's brach,

how on earth came a lady's brach hunting in a
pack of boarhounds ^ and this first line is in itself
almost enough to justify a verdict against the writer
of — ' No lyrical ear ! ' What born Balladist but would
have said —

Down in a nook lay my lady's brach ?

1 84 FRESHWATER 1868

August I o. — Steamer to Yarmouth and coach to
Freshwater. Lunch at Mrs. Cameron's ; Dr. Hooker
of Kew, Mr. Erasmus Darwin, his niece, Miss D. Dr.
Hooker is writing his Address as President of the British
Association, to meet this year at Norwich. He comes
with me to Farringford, where we find A. T. on the
lawn, sitting at a small table with books and tobacco.
Walk round garden, the three of us, Dr. H. giving the
names of various plants as we go along, ' Kuyphofia,'
etc. Tobacco plant about seven feet high — ' never saw
so fine a one in the tropics.'

August II. — To Freshwater ; engage bedroom over
little shop, and to the Darwins. Dr. Hooker in lower
room writing away at his Address ; going to put ' Peter
Bell's ' primrose into it and wants the exact words.
Upstairs Mrs. Darwin, Miss D. and Mr. Charles Darwin
himself, — tall, yellow, sickly, very quiet. He has his
meals at his own times, sees people or not as he chooses,
has invalid's privileges in full, a great help to a
studious man. Dr. Hooker and I to Plumley's Hotel
(where he is put up) ; T. and Hallam come in, and T.
calls me ' an ass ' for not taking a bed at Farringford.
1 to little shop, — and then to Farringford. After
dinner come in Mr. Erasmus Darwin, brother of
Charles, an old bachelor and invalid, living in London ;
Mrs. Darwin, and second Miss Darwin ; also Captain
Speedy, six feet and a half high, who has pleasant
manners. He talks of Abyssinia^ — -the churches there,
religion, slaughter of animals, the Trinity. The
Hindoos and Beloochs ' wept for Theodore.'

Little Alamayu (means ' I have seen the world '),
Theodore's son, is here at Freshwater in Speedy's
charge, by the Queen's wish. The little prince has a
native attendant, a young man who is devoted to him.
Speedy the other day overheard them amusing them-
selves by mimicking English people. Attendant comes
up in the character of an English lady, shakes hand —
' How you do ^. '

iS68 LYMINGTON 185

Alamayu replies — ' How you do ? '

Attendant. — * How you like this country ? '

Little Prince. — ' Ver' mush.'

Attendant. — ' Ah ! you like ver' mush ' — and so on.

T. complains of hotel charges, especially in England.

I say — ' They ought to let you go free, as a Poet.'

T. — ' They charge me double ! and I can't be
anonymous (turning to Mrs. Cameron) by reason of
your confounded photographs.' The party breaks up
about twelve, ' an orgie,' T. calls it. He comes out
with me and we wander some distance. Jupiter and a
half-moon in the sky ; talk of immortality. I go back
with him and find the door locked ! He rings and says
' My wife will come,' but a servant woman comes.
Nobody guessed he was out.

August 12. — Freshwater. Pack bag, to Farringford.
Breakfast in the study, the boys pleasant ; Lionel back
from bathing ; A. T., letter from America for auto-
graph.

Mrs. T., ' Lionel going to Eton.' She dislikes
Darwin's theory. I sit in study : A. T. teaching
Hallam Latin — Catiline.

Charles Darwin expected, but comes not. Has
been himself called ' The Missing Link.' Luncheon.
Then T. and I walk into croquet -ground, talking of
Christianity.

' What I want,' he said, ' is an assurance of im-
mortality.'

For my part I believe in God : can say no more.

Friday^ August 21. — Mrs. Cameron's: Captain
Speedy opens the door. Little Alamayu, pretty boy,
we make friends and have romps, he rides on my knee,
shows his toys. His Abyssinian attendant. They dress
to be photographed by Mrs. C, the Prince in a little
purple shirt and a necklace, Captain Speedy in a lion-skin
tippet, with a huge Abyssinian sword of reaping-hook
shape (' point goes into your skull '). Photograph-
ing room — Speedy grumbles a little, Mrs. C. poses

1 86 LYMINGTON 1868

them. Photograph of Mrs. Tennyson's maid as
' Desdemona.'

Sunday ^ August 23. — Kind note from Miss Thackeray,
to which I reply. (Suggest possible match between
Alamayu and little Margery— future Queen of Abys-
sinia.)

Saturday^ August 29. — To Esher (by invitation from
Mrs. Howitt). Arrive at ' The Orchard,' a pretty homely
cottage, where William Howitt, sturdy and white-haired,
welcomes me from the open window. Then Mary
Howitt, looking gray and worn, I am shown to my
trim little bedroom, adorned with various Christian
emblems. Outside, three tall poplars shoot up into
the blue sky.

Monday^ August 3 1 . — Good-bye. William Howitt to
the station with me and sees me off. Good people the
H.'s, but we should not long agree in the same house.

Stop at Basingstoke and walk into the town ; dullish,
snug houses with trim gardens. At Brockenhurst find
Aubrey de Vere, going to Freshwater, much talk till
he goes off in steamer.

Thursday, September 3. — Freshwater. Very fine.
Lionel and I on ponies, a gallop on the downs.

Hinton's Life in Nature (praised by A. T.).

I walk to Yarmouth, cross to Lymington, Custom
House, and back in the afternoon to dine at Farringford.
Dinner : A. T., Mrs. T., Lionel, Mr. Digby (tutor),
De Vere, and W. A.

De Vere — his talk of Catholicism, eloquently vague,
sliding into Newmanism and Jesuistry, The T,'s mildly
dissentient, I getting angry. T., De V. and I went
out under the stars ; I flared up at last and asked De V,,
' Do you yourself entirely believe the account given by
the Roman Catholic Church of God and man } '

De V, — ' I believe it all as surely as that I tread this
ground and see those stars.'

W. A. — ' And I don't believe one atom of it.'

Tennyson. — ' You have no point of contact, then.'

1868 LYMINGTON 187

De V. and I walked off m the moonlight and said
good-night at Plumley's ; he going on, he said, to walk
upon the down.

Friday, September 4. — Freshwater. Mrs. Carter's
lodging. Very fine and sunny. To Farringford, meet
William with the ponies. Breakfast, then out to
croquet-lawn, sit in shade, reading odd numbers of a
Conservative magazine. A. T. comes, friendly ; says,
' I saw a beast watching me ! I saw his legs behind
the ilex.'

September 20. — To Farringford. — Tennyson. — Is
writing his ' San Grail.'

' I'm spoiling it. Will you take a turn '^. ' — then we
talk on Hinton's book, and on his brother Charles's
Sonnets. ' All is not chemistry and matter.'

We look at ducks and pigs. Little Alamayu sits
on my knee and looks at a book of animals. Zebra
especially interesting to him : that is the Abyssinian
name of the beast. The Elephant he calls 'zoon.'

T. said he had a rich cousin who drank hard and
talked loud. ' He used to quote Byron to me —

Over the waters of the dark blue sea —

and so forth, adding, " Poets have some sense." ' He

offered to lend me Castle B for our wedding

month — 'will you come down to B .'' then you

may go to Hell ! '

A. T. then went upstairs and dulness set in.

September 26. — Vestiges of Creation. Depressing
scientific views of life. Call on foreign gentleman — Mr.
Quintinella, a Brazilian : Brazil, Paraguay, Spain, etc.

Thursday.^ October 8. — Fine ; walk to Brockenhurst,
lonely. Dine 7 — rain — out. Magee is made Bishop
of Peterborough, reflections thereupon ; when we met
at Ballyshannon he was a curate, and we stood on a
social level. But would you like to be a Bishop ?
Would anything induce you to be a Bishop }

Saturday, October 10. — To Southampton. Lunch

1 88 FRESHWATER ms

at Dr. Bond's ; then with a party to the New Forest —
Miss Webster, Mr. and Mrs. Hankin, etc. Swan-Green,
Queen's Bower, rich red sunset through the trees ; old
oak and brook hke old friends now, yet how little they
care for us ! This longing for Nature to return us some
friendship, some affection, created Naiads, Dryads, and
Oreads. Yet how should a Poet turn back to these ?
and what then is he to do nowadays with his faculty of
imaginative song ? Cross Ober or Over-Green and
pick some Butcher's-Broom.

October 1 1 . — Very fine. Irish topography. Natural
History. Walk, Norley Wood : lakes of mist on
Beaulieu Heath.

October 12. — Dissatisfied : life slips by — to what
purpose ^ Lindley on plants. Walk to Keyhaven by
marsh.

October 15. — To Freshwater. Miss Thackeray at
St. John's Cottage, with Marjorie and Annie, and
maid Justine. Guests — Frederick Walker, the artist,
small, compact, jockey-like figure, large bluish eyes,
short but thick brown hair combed down over his fore-
head ; his small hand gives you a sinewy grip.

Miss Emma Irving, Captain Irving from India. We
have games with the children — fishing for mermaids
with gingerbread, etc.

Call at Terrace and find there Mrs. Ritchie and
three daughters. To Mrs. Cameron's where we all
dine (though the poor woman has a bad cold and her
husband and Ewan are in bed) at two round tables
put together. Ladies go. Men talk of billiards,
Sayers and Heenan, etc. Professor Owen's true ghost
story of the nigger's head falling out of a medical
student's bag, hopping down a steep street (in Lan-
caster .''), and bumping against the door of a man who
had been a slave-dealer, and who, seeing it, was near
frightened to death. Story of parish clerk who in
parson's absence essayed to console a dying parishioner.
* He was a bad chap, your Reverence.' * And what

i868 FRESHWATER 1 8 9

did you say to comfort him ? ' — ' I told him he was
sure to go to Hell, and that he ought to be thankful to
have a Hell to go to.'

October 16. — Saw little Alamayu in the road; tv/o
of the De Havilland children came up, whom he kissed,
and then came the snuffy old Postman with his bag,
and the little Prince kissed him too — partly, perhaps, as
an important functionary who often bears tidings of
interest. Breakfast at Miss Thackeray's, enlivened by
the children. Walker is going on with a little picture
of a Girl watering flowers.

Walk to Yarmouth and cross to Lymington ; back
in the afternoon ; roughish sea and coldish on the
coach. Myrtle Cottage. Dine at Miss Thackeray's ;
the Miss Ritchies, F. Walker. Talk of George Eliot,
etc. F. W. and I have cigarettes, and then to
drawing-room, where I read aloud Shelley's Sonnet
' Being your Slave,' and Leigh Hunt's ' Abou Ben
Adhem.' We fall to drawing pigs with our eyes shut
and dawdle away time till 12 o'clock.

October 17. — Freshwater. To breakfast at Miss
Thackeray's. To Farringford. A. T. and 1 down the
lane ; call at Miss T.'s, where they are at luncheon ;
then at Mrs. Cameron's. He says, as we approach
her house : ' Mrs. C. (using the initial, as he often
does) is so gushing ! ' She presently justified this by
saying fervently to T., while we spoke of F. Walker,
' His soul is at your feet ! ' Says T., ' I hope his soles
are at his own feet.' We go to the shore with the
Ritchies ; T. throws a stick into the sea for dog to
fetch.

Mem. — I doubt if holds poetry in any honour,

or poets as such. I sought A. T. and worshipped him
as the well-head of an enchanting river of song : charm
of personality and surroundings came in addition, a fine

setting to the priceless jewel of his genius. , I

imagine, admires the poetry mainly because she admires
and loves the man.

I90 LYMINGTON 1868

Monday^ October 19. — Cross to Yarmouth. We
find the Tennyson carriage at Miss Thackeray's ;
Mrs. T. asks the ladies, ' Will you take compassion
on him ^ ' that is, allow A. T. to walk with them ; and
they do consent. A. T, comes accordingly, and we
walk off (Mrs. R., Miss Augusta, Miss Emily, Nellie,
Miss Annie Prinsep, A. T., and W. A.) down old road,
by Afton Park fence, field-path through turnips to
Afton Down, see the barrows (ancient burial mounds),
cross the rough new military road, and by path to shore ;
geology — Wealden ; so on to Brook Point and the
fossil trees. T. (enjoying the girls' company) says :
' If I could take a walk like this every day I shouldn't
be tired of Freshwater.'

I mentioning Yarmouth, he turns quickly on me :
* A rhyme to Yarmouth } quick, quick ! mustn't think ! '
' Charmouth ' the only perfect rhyme that occurred.
On the rocks an unknown demoiselle, to whom A. T.
ofi^ers his hand to help her over some slight difficulty.
She did not seem to know who he was.

Thursday^ October 22. — Lymington. Walk to Setley,
and find gypsies encamped. Coming back I overtake
a little girl carrying with difficulty two bags of sand,
and just as I am asking how far she is going, up
drives Rev. P. F. in his gig, who offers me a lift. I
say, ' Help this little girl with her two heavy bags,'
upon which his Reverence reddens and drives off. I
carry one of the bags.

Monday, October 26. — To Forest Bank, and (on
suggestion of Aide) call on La Marchesa Taglia-Carne,
who has taken the place for a time. She has been a
widow more than twelve months.

October 28. — A. and E. Ritchie by steamer, with
them to Brockenhurst, and show the old Church.

Walk alone into Forest, among coloured trees :
Whitley Wood, Gretnam, Tollgate, back by brook-
side, among beautiful beeches ; spindle tree seeds ;
maple yellow like a ripe quince.

1868 BOSCOMBE 191

Daily News, 'Leigh Hunt Memorial — Browning
in the chair.'

Evening, moonlight. Moliere.

November 2. — Invited to Miss Dickson's. Pay
pensioners. Kind Miss D. in her pretty rooms, but
* not well,' — I wish the good soul could be well. Out
and walk in the dusk on Boldrewood Road, sunset
fading, dark trees, owls do cry. Already a drift of
withered leaves. Return and see, like a pale smoke,
the moon-dawn mounting. At dinner with Miss D.
and self, only Mr. Darwin, son of Charles Darwin.

Tuesday y November 3. — Lyndhurst. To Meet of
the Foxhounds at Bolton's Bench, carriages, horses,
hounds.

November 5. — Assembly Rooms, Election Meeting.

Sunday ^ November 1^. — Gray. Cheerfuller. Received
from Robert Browning by post Vol. I. of his new Poem,
The Ring and the Book.

Friday^ December 4. — Call on old Kirkwood,
pensioner ; hands crippled, cheerful face and voice,
cheerful heart to all appearance : tended by his old wife.
What is the secret of the cheerfulness of old poor
sick folk .'' Complete resignation the basis of it "?

Wednesday^ December 9. — Christchurch ; Boscombe.
Lady Shelley, luncheon, Sir Percy. Upstairs, cast of
Shelley monument at Christchurch. Bust of Mary
Wollstonecraft, bust and oil picture of Mrs. Shelley
— ' the noblest of creatures (says Lady S. to me),
entirely unselfish. I knew her before I married Percy ;
I was with her when she died. She lay ten days
motionless and speechless, only sometimes opening her
eyes wide. When she died, / felt sure Shelley was in
the room. Her look of joy was indescribable. Shelley's
daughter lanthe was brought up by low church clergy-
men, according to the wish of her Aunt Eliza ; she
was married to Mr. Esdaile, a squire, once a sporting
man, and her children have been brought up in Low
Church Calvinism. She visited us here at Boscombe :

192 BOSCOMBE 1868

before she came she wanted to bargain that her father's
name should never be mentioned in her presence or
her children's, but this 1 refused to agree to. She
came to us, but when we gave a children's party she
would not let her children be present. She had prayers
or a religious service with them every evening, lasting
two hours. One day I left her alone in the Shelley
room, with the portrait, hair, books, letters and other
memorials of her father. She stayed a long time, and
when she came out I saw that she had been weeping.
She promised to send me some early poems in MS. in
return for a copy of the portrait ; but after she got
home she drew back from this, and I have not sent her
the copy which I had made for the purpose : there it is.*

Take leave and walk to Christchurch, Sir Percy along
with me half the way. Dismal road, empty barrack,
wretched suburb. Station ; the ugliest old little English
town 1 have seen, spite of a river and a Minster.

Commercial man in train describes Bournemouth
as * a rdtten place ' commercially. Brockenhurst, train
gone, got back to Lymington in a butcher's cart.

Saturday^ December 12. — Sir Percy Shelley's steam-
yacht Nokken at Inman's Quay, steward calls to invite
me. I find on board Sir P., and in the cabin Lady S.
and Miss ' Flossy ' Gibson. Engraving of Shelley for
me. We start, rather cold — Cowes, we put off in a boat.
Sir P. and a sailor row us in, and drive to Woodvale,
a semi-marine house with gables and a hall. Dinner —
music, drama, Norway, etc. Drawing-room, Norwegian
book with picture of ' Leerfossen,' my cousin Thoning's
waterfall.

Sunday^ December 13. — I walk into Cowes by road
near the sea, then upper road, muddy lanes, Floating
Bridge, then wide road with streets and villas, and the
rails and gates of Osborne House. I venture to ask
the dignified porter if one might walk a little way into
the park, to which he replied mildly and calmly, ' On
no consideration, sir.'

1868 LONDON 193

Monday^ December 21. — 1.45 train to London.
Lodging at 44 Hans Place.

Tuesday^ December 22, — Tom Taylor at Richmond
Terrace, friendly as usual : ' all well — come to us on
Christmas Day ' ; gives me card for Picture Galleries,
see Wallis's Exhibition in Pall Mall.

Thursday^ December 24, — Call on Carlyle, ' out.'
On Froude, who is friendly, praises the Rambles.
On Miss Thackeray ; Mrs. Stephen, Marjorie,
Annie, Nellie Ritchie and brother : Christmas Tree.
Hans Place, — and to dinner at No. 1 9 : Mr.
Planche, with old, comic wrinkled face ; Mr. Walter
Cassell, good looking, kind, somewhat choice in
manner and voice. Ouida (Louise de la Ramee), in
green silk, sinister clever face, hair down, small hands
and feet, voice like a carving knife ; also her mother.
At dinner puns and jokes : Ouida silentish. The ladies
go to the drawing-room, upstairs, and when after an
interval we follow them we hear, before the door opens,
a voice going on inside like a saw, and on entering find
Ouida saying, in loud harsh tones — ' women are un-
generous, cruel, pitiless ! ' Planche, taking refuge on
an ottoman with a face expressing humorous alarm,
' God bless my soul ! I think they're angels — I adore
them — they're the best half of the world.'

Ouida, with severity, — ' I entirely disagree. The
woman nearly always leads the man astray,' etc. etc.
' Woman can't be impersonal.'

Mr. Cassell philosophises on the subject, rather
materialistically. Ouida departs, after inviting Planche
and me to visit her at the Langham Hotel, where she is
biding at present with her Mother and an immense Dog.
She carries a portrait of the latter round her neck in a
locket, which she detached after dinner and handed
round for inspection, with the remark, ' This is my
hero' (perhaps the hero of one of her books). She
asked somebody present ' Have you read my last
book.?' — 'Not yet.'

194 LONDON 1868

' But you must read it, you know ! '

She said she had found America ' a mine of wealth '
to her, in the payments for her novels.

Friday^ December 25. — Miss Thackeray's at 1.30, to
luncheon : Leslie Stephen and his wife : ' Come next
Sunday.' L. S.'s ' earliest recollections connected with
Kensington Gardens, The Yew Wood, seemed very
solemn' — America — Emerson — Authoress of Charles
Auchester. L. S. likes Lowell.

Saturday^ December 26. — To Froude's to luncheon.
Then to Carlyle's at three, shown upstairs, where I see
The Ring and the Book, part read, a Frederick snuff-
box, blue and gold, photographs of Mrs. Carlyle,
Biographie Universelle^ Revisal of Miscellanies going
on for Library Edition, ' volume in hand.'

Enter Carlyle, friendly ; we walk to Kensington
Gardens. The Ring and the Book ' a curiously minute
picture of Italian Society : not poetry at all.'

Dine at Tom Taylor's : — we go in to Ella's, to
a small music-party. Ella gives an abstract of a story
with musical illustrations, and is most vivacious and
amusing, as well as an attentive host. Then he gives
us part of William Tell. He overflows with anecdotes

of musical celebrities whom he has known. Miss ,

who is dull and evangelical, one day expressed herself
shocked at E.'s vanity and frivolity, ' and at his age ! '
I defended him, liked to see age cheerful, and thought
Ella had given much pleasure to others — and so he has.
So-called vain people, not fools, are usually amiable,
they wish to please.

Sunday, December 27. — Cab to Warwick Crescent,
to lunch by invitation with the great Robert. After
luncheon — Shelley, the drowning of S. — ' not in his right
senses — in the moon. Another man who lives in the
moon is Sir George Bowyer. I called on him to ask
some questions about Romana Homicidiorum Lex for
my book, but as to intelligible answers — you might as
well ask a butterfly to fly straight across this room !

1868 LONDON 195

He referred me to an Italian friend of his, who was ten
times worse than himself.'

We go into the Study — small back-room looking
on balcony and back-green below, still talking of The
Ring and the Book, and R. B, asks me plump ' How
do you like it ? ' to which I return praise, and for the
present (with uneasy conscience) nothing but praise ;
don't know how to set about criticism, especially with
but half of the Poem as yet seen. B. again shows me
the original Book, and translates to me the letter of the
lawyer, de Archangelis, written on the day of the execu-
tion, saying, among other things, ' Guido is lamented
for by all respectable people.'

B. praises his own poem — ' It's admirable ! I've
ever so much more to tell,'

Shows me proofs of ' Pompilia ' ; also two rings of
pure gold, very soft ; Castellani of Rome makes them.
He gives me Volume II. of The Ring and the Book, re-
marking, ' Your first volume was one of six only. I
gave one to Gabriel Rossetti. I should like to give
to Morris and Ned Jones and William Rossetti. The
Athenaeum notice is good.' We walk out, — still talk
of The Ring and the Book : ' a builder will tell you
sometimes of a house, " there's twice as much work
underground as above," and so it is with my poem.
Guido's not escaping better, man won't give him post-
horses ; the Pope, as Providence ; Guido has time for
confession, etc' We part. I sit in an arbour and read
the first pages of ' Tertium Quid.'

To Hans Place, then walk to 12 Earl's Terrace,
Kensington, to dine with Du Maurier, 6 p.m. D. M.
in brown velvet coat, Mrs. D. M. in light robes ;
Poynter, T. Armstrong, and another. Children, little
girl on my knee, sturdy boy : talk, animals —
swallows, etc.

' Ned Jones doing most wonderful things — three
Saints.'

Old Ballads — my Ballad Book.

196 LONDON 1868

D. M. on his fear of blindness.

Monday^ December 28. — To Cheyne Row (heavy
rain). Parlour : 'Scotch lassie,' niece of Carlyle, lives
at Dumfries, has never been to London before, been
here about three months (,?)^ — National Gallery, the
Titians, etc. Speaks gravely and sensibly. Enter
T. C, very friendly and famihar : ' Go up, sir, to that
place there (drawing-room), and we'll see what can be
done.' A yellow gleam shows through the rain as we
go upstairs. Portrait of Landor on the stairs.

We started on our walk, passing through Hans
Place in a shower of rain. He spoke of his own writ-
ings— ' they gave me much trouble. I brought them
into the world with labour and sorrow, and I must
reckon most of them but small trash after all. Ay,
there's far too much dogmatism going : English funeral
service, for example. The Scotch way is better in that.
People write to me to try to bring me to Christ — ah
me ! If the Universe grinds me to nothing, I will hold
that to be best and say " Not my will but thine be
done." I don't pretend to understand the Universe —
it's a great deal bigger than I am. The Darwinian
Theory tried to meddle with things that are out of
man's reach : and besides — I don't care a straw about
all that ! People ought to be modester.'

In answer to a remark of mine one day Carlyle
blazed up — ' Write my autobiography } I would as
soon think of cutting my throat with my pen-knife
when I get back home ! The Biographers too ! If
those gentlemen would let me alone I should be much
obliged to them. I would say, as Shakespeare would
say to Peter Cunningham, " Sweet Friend, for Jesus'
sake forbear." '

Tuesday^ December 29. — Return to Lymington.

December 31. — Fine. Walk to EfFord, sunset.
Evening, Methodist chapel. Watch Night.

1 Mary Carlyle Aitken, afterwards Mrs. Alexander Carlyle.

CHAPTER XI

1869-1870

January i. — Lymington. Write to various friends.

March 31, London. — Carlyle. — Insomnia. The Ring
and the Book.

C. — ' A set of people who cannot see over Browning
are determined to see in him all sorts of things.'

April. — Saw, one of these days, the Siamese Twins,
old and withered men. They were, by rumour, one
of the marvels of my childhood.

May 6, London. — To Albemarle St., and break-
fast with Lecky — his Morals^ Morley's attack in
Fortnightly . I attack Lecky for civility to Dogmatism
and talk rather sharply. He sees much on both sides ;
abhors the Utilitarians. He says, ' I began to write
in the usual way, with Poetry, and was much dis-
appointed to find my poems unnoticed, I believed in
them very strongly.' He gives me a book of his called
Religious Aspects of the Present Tifne. When I point
out some of the evils of Dogmatism, L. says, ' These
things are a great comfort to ignorant people ' ; at
another time he argues, when I press him as to orthodox
dogmas, ' practically these views are now inoperative.'

Contradictory .'' or is it that he thinks it better for
the less ignorant to make believe as to all these ' views,'
for the sake of comforting the ignorant ?

L. tells me he was ' intended for the Church,' to which
I reply, ' You would have been a Bishop.'

197

198 FARRINGFORD 1869

He is a man of probity and intelligence, reads
diligently and remembers accurately ; but our minds
are not in touch — differently constituted as well as
differently trained.

May 7. — Dine at Bertolini's, and see old Mr.
Seymour in his accustomed corner.

May 9. — Mrs. Clough's. 20 Eaton Place, — Lady
Simeon, Venables, etc.

May 16. — Lymington. Mrs. S.'s — Table turning.
Mrs. S. attacks my want of faith. ' We know^ etc.,
' cerebration,' etc. (what can one say in such case ? and
silence offends). We try a table, and it does tilt and
knock and spells out a message to myself, ' You will
be much loved' (!) after which it runs about, we
dodging it up and down. What tiresome nonsense !

Tuesday^ May 25. — Lymington. Invitation from
Mrs. Tennyson for to-day to meet ' Mr. and Mrs. Fields
and Miss {Biglow Papers) Lowell.' 3 o'clock steamer,
I find them on board and introduce myself. Low
water, land in boat, show the Americans the old George
Inn, and the quaint little lock-up ; their delight in old
houses, ivy, etc. pleasant to see. Dinner 6.30, brisk
chat. Mr. F.'s stories of Thackeray in Boston — ' all
the Lecture tickets sold. Then I can't do less than
put my feet out of the cab window,' and he did so.
Big oyster — ' feel as if I had swallowed a baby.'

Wednesday^ May 26. — Farringford. Lovely view
from bedroom window, over the trees Hurst Castle,
Solent, and England. Birds singing.

I had the great pleasure of accompanying Miss Mabel
Lowell in her first walk in English fields. There were
only us two. A Daisy was one of the first marvels, and
while she gathered it a Skylark sprang up singing into
the bright clouds. But an old cottage almost covered
with ivy surpassed everything. She stood gazing upon
it, lost in wonder and delight. They have ivy in
Mass^"^ as a potted plant only, taken indoors in winter.
Mrs. Cameron photographs M. L. I cross to

1869 LYMINGTON 199

Lymington and return in the afternoon. After dinner,
a discussion on Ireland. A. T. as usual, while grant-
ing and liking the lyrical and humorous qualities of
the Kelts and their pleasant manners, calls it ' that
horrible island,' and will not allow that it has any
history of its own worth the least notice, knowing in
fact not a whit more of its history than does the
average Englishman — who knows, as nearly as possible,
nothing. To him, as to A. T., the very name of ' Brian
Boru ' is a joke.

I try to make Brian be seen as a real and important
historic personage, and win audience from the Americans,
and perhaps some attention, but A. T. plays his part
of the deaf adder, and we have to wind all up with a
laugh.

Thursday^ May 27. — Cross to Lymington with Miss
Lowell and the Fieldses. M. L. said Tennyson offered
her her choice among his books for a gift, and she
chose Maud — ' I found it was all right, he thought it
a good choice.'

IVednesday^ June 9. — Lymington. Letter from
' Annie Fields,' dated from ' Gads Hill Place,' thanking
me for ' Touchstone,' ^ which she asked me to send her
in autograph. It seems it was much talked of in
America because Emerson recited it in his funeral
oration for John Brown : most of the papers gave it
as his.

Bed 2.30. 'Hear the lark begin his flight.'

Friday^ July 30. — Longman (by Tom Taylor's
advice) asks me to write verses to a set of fairy draw-
ings by Doyle.

A job of this kind likes me not, yet I accepted the
offer, and have found some pleasure in trying, chiefly
during rambles in the Forest, to bring the unconnected
designs within the compass of a little story in dialogue,
with some lyrics interspersed. Both artist and publisher
have left me entirely to myself in the matter, and it

1 Poem, in AUingham's Floiver Pieces.

200 LYMINGTON 1869

remains to be seen how they will like ' Prince Brightkin,'
whom I have posted to-day to Paternoster Row.

Garden Party at the Tomlinsons, small ; Miss P.,
Admiral Castle, Mrs. Telfer — who tells me something
of her history. We were talking of wild flowers ;
she said, ' the English wild flowers are beautiful, but
I never saw any in the world so lovely and profuse
as those of Siberia.' ' Siberia ! ' said I. Then she told
me that her Father was a young Russian Officer who,
for his liberal opinions, was banished to Siberia by
the Emperor Nicholas. He was not imprisoned but
restricted to certain limits of habitation, and his corre-
spondence had to pass through official hands. Before
leaving St. Petersburg he was permitted to marry a
young lady to whom he was engaged, and she accom-
panied him into exile. Their daughter (now Mrs.
Telfer, qui park) was born near Irkutsk ; they after-
wards lived at Tobolsk, and thus in her childhood she
was among the enchanting wild flowers of the Siberian
Springs, ' My Mother used to say they were the happiest
years of her life.'' They were years of youth, love,
enthusiasm, and the bright hope of one day returning to
their country. They did return ; but those years of exile
seemed in the light of memory sweeter than all others.

' I can understand,' said I, ' why you love the
Siberian wild flowers.'

' But they really are the most beautiful in the world,'
said she.

Tuesday, August 3. — Internal gloom. To Lyndhurst
(invited) ; Whitehorn meets me with Miss Dickson's
carriage : Bird's Nest, Miss D. and Mrs, A'ide. I walk
off over moor, Matley Wood — nothing good !

Begin to feel better. Mem. — ' Songs of despair, O
Poet, only songs of despair,' ^

Return by road. Dinner at 8. Miss Dickson and I talk
' gloom, Lymington etc' She speaks wisely and kindly
as usual, but agrees that Lymington is no abiding-place.

' Poem, in Allingham's Blackberries.

1869 LYMINGTON 201

August 6. — Walk to Whilley Ridge ; cowboy says
the bull ' blared ' {i.e. bellowed).

Sunday^ August 22. — Out to Sway and Mead End,
dine under old tree, near sunset time. Shall I go to
Exeter, to British Association ^.

August 23. — Start for Exeter (having arranged for
Customs duty). Reception Room. Dr. Hooker, etc.

August 28. — Totnes, Dartmouth, Dean Prior
(Herrick), Brent, and back to Exeter.

(See Rambles by Patricius Walker.)

August 30. — Bideford ; Westward Ho (absurd
name). Clovelly.

August 31. — Back to Lymington. I love Devon.

October^ Lymington. — The Tennant family go to
Freshwater : they invite me to join in a little tour
through the Island. Cross to Portsmouth, run up to
Haslemere to visit Tennyson in his new house on
Blackdown. Kind reception, magnificent prospect.

October 13. — Move to Wellington Place ; write on
chimney-piece of bedroom : —

I hope that in this House I may
No evil do, no evil say.

Monday^ November i. — In Fairyland comes — a
muddle, no consultation having been made or proposed
between artist and poet. The former (in a huff prob-
ably) has put his own prose description to the
pictures.

Old Irish airs on violin. I love Ireland : were she
only not Catholic ! but would she be Ireland otherwise ^

News Room. In Fairyland [Prince Brightkin].
Daily News says ' charming poem.'

1870

[Through this year, the entries in Allingham's diaries
are too bare to be linked together in any continuous

202

LYMINGTON

1870

narrative. He had been offered by Messrs. Longmans
the post of sub-editor of Eraser s Magazine with Mr,
Froude ; and in April he finally gave up the Customs
and came to live in London. He stayed for a week
with Mr. and Mrs. Tom Taylor, at Lavender Sweep, and
then found rooms near Onslow Square, within easy
distance of Cheyne Row. He was immediately busy
with the work of the Magazine ; and for several
weeks, in his diary many of the days have entered
against them only one word — proofs.

He was often with the Burne-Joneses, now living at
The Grange, in North End, Fulham, and there he met
Morris and Webb : he writes of walking from his rooms
to ' Ned's, by fields, with pear trees in blossom, green
hedges.' From time to time he dined with Rossetti —
and with Browning. There is a story of — ' Old Mr.
T , meeting Browning for the first time at a dinner-
table, said to him in his important manner — "Mr,
Browning, I have read some of your poetry, but I can't
make anything of it," B, replied, "I am delighted to
hear you say so. I have never met a reader of my
poetry who made that observation in such plain terms
as you have to me, yet I am sure a great many of them
don't really understand it one bit better than you do." '

Carlyle was very ' friendly and encouraging ' about
AUingham's new prospects. He was frequently at
Cheyne Row ; but unfortunately there are no details
of the talks during this year.

One note we give as it stands : ' Mary tells me she
said to her Uncle — " People say Mr. Allingham is to
be your Boswell," and he replied, " Well, let him try
it. He's very accurate." ']

CHAPTER XII

1871-1872

January 26. — Overtake Carlyle in King's Road. 'I
am glad to see you, I was going along in solitary reflec-
tions in this black element of frost.'

Speaking of some one lately dead, C. said, 'Ah yes,
he's out of this confused puddle that we must still go
floundering in a while longer.

' Death and the Future, We know nothing — must
leave all that alone. I often think of Kant's notion —
no real Time or Space, these are only appearances —
and think it is true, I have often had a feeling (con-
trary as it is to all logic) that there is a Special Provi-
dence,— a leading by the Hand of a great friendly Power
above us.'

Europe seems determined to try the experiment of
doing without a God—' the world must be crucified
and brought through extreme sorrow to a better mind.'

C. spoke of the Scotch : John Knox : ' they are
degenerate now — in many ways (laughing) : the old-
fashioned lairds used to get drunk for ten days at a
time ! Even Burns had a true sincerity — not like
Tommy Moore.'

' Maclise was a quiet shy man with much brogue.
His drawing of me in Eraser had a very considerable
likeness. Done from life in Eraser's back-parlour in
about twenty minutes.'

February 1. — At Carlyle's meet Tourguenefl^, and the

203

204 LONDON 1871

talk turns upon Russia. T. says that every one speaks
good Russian in his country, not French, except the
lower people. He speaks well, softly, naturally, tell-
ingly, politely ; his gentle speech flowed round Carlyle's
rocks — a big strong man, over fifty, about 6^ feet,
good linguist, and curious about English Literature of
the time.

June 28. — In Battersea Park. We go by rose-
garden ; ask the gardener a question, and he answers
in a rude surly fashion ; we agree that these are
' Saxon ' manners, and that the Irish have much
sweeter. We passed some tall foxgloves, which I
admired : ' Ah,' said he, without looking at them, ' old
Mother Nature is profuse in her gifts ! ' His insensi-
bility to the beauty of flowers is one of the odd things
in C, he allows it as a fact but does not feel it.

Mem. — He has little or no sense of smell.

He told me of an old man, a pauper (' bandster '),
who sang Border Ballads in the Annandale dialect ; C.
imitated him. Of ignorant old Scots wife who, speaking
of some family, said, ' There's twa sons, baith doin'
weel in Glasgie ; tane's an Imposter, and t'ither's a
Malefactor ' ; it was found that she meant ' Upholsterer '
and ' Manufacturer.'

Once more the longest day is past, we recollected.

' A day,' he mused, ' how strange ! A year — where
is it gone .'' Time — is it real, or not } Kant says it is
but our way of seeing things. I can conceive this, but
am not able entirely to accept the thought. " Forty
years make great odds in a lass " — ah, that's true
enough.'

He then spoke affectionately of his Mother and her
piety.

As we crossed Battersea Bridge coming back, C.
said, ' Leigh Hunt used to walk with me in the first
years after I came to Chelsea. He was sweet and
dignified, and his talk like the song of a nightingale.

He was delighted with everything in our house, —

i87i LONDON 205

my Wife's playing of Scotch melodies, Scotch brose for
supper, — praised everything: gradually, however, he
found I was not a Shelley — had a foundation of
Presbyterianism which was not agreeable to him. He
met with much contradiction, and ceased to come to
walk with me ; but we continued very friendly.'

[Another day the talk ran on various men and
books.]

Pope : Rev. W. Elwin's edition of Pope an
absurdity, running down his author all the way. Pope
a systematic liar — nonsense ! ' His mendacities about
his writings mattered nothing or next to nothing at
all ; were merely like those of a young lady who says
no when she means yes.'

C. spoke of Life of Peacock (whom he called a poor
creature) — of Lord Houghton, and ran down Keats
and Shelley : ' Keats wanted a world of treacle ! '
Milnes's Life, etc. — a book that interested me, I said, to
which C. retorted, ' That shows you to be a soft-horn ! '

Of Browning's Balaustion, C. said ' I read it all twice
through, and found out the meaning of it. Browning
most ingeniously twists up the English language into
riddles — " There ! there is some meaning in this — can
you make it out ^ " I wish he had taken to prose.
Browning has far more ideas than Tennyson, but is
not so truthful. Tennyson means what he says, poor
fellow ! Browning has a meaning in his twisted sen-
tences, but he does not really go into anything,
or believe much about it. He accepts conventional
values.'

C. found considerable beauties in Ossian. In early
days (he told me) he read everything he could put
hands on — Roderick Random, with immense delight,
a bundle of old numbers of The Lady^s Magazine,
another of The Belfast and County Almanack, sewn
together. This had a department of Mathematical
Questions, all of which he worked out for himself.

We spoke of White's Life of Swedenborg, C. rather

2o6 LONDON 1871

with praise, in which I could not agree. C. thought
there was a prurient element in Swedenborg which
accounted for much : but he never cared at all for the
great Swede, and had, I believe, no grasp of his
character. He has been reading Dr. T. Brown's
Lectures on Moral Philosophy : — ' might as well have
listened to a rookery.'

November 8. — With Carlyle. Old Saints. Shake-
speare : C. said with emphasis, ' The longer I live, the
higher I rate that much -belauded man.' He thought
that Shakespeare was much impressed with Christianity ;
to which I demurred. He repeated ' The cloud-capt
Towers,' etc., dwelling solemnly once more on —

We are such stuff
As dreams are made of, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep —

He quoted Richter — 'These words created whole
volumes within me,' and mused, saying the words
again to himself, ' such stuff 2ls dreams are made of.'

To my mind, I confess this fine dramatic passage
seems of no very particular value when separated from
its context.

We agree about Scott as a poet, and, on the whole,
about Byron — Moore, too.

Spoke of Gray — the Elegy ^ Letters from the Lakes,
and passed to Goldsmith. At no time did C. show
himself so happy and harmonious as when talking on
some great literary subject with nothing in it to raise
his pugnacity. The books and writers who charmed
his youth — to return to these was to sail into sheltered
waters.

C. said, ' Writing is an art. After I had been at it
some time I began to perceive more and more clearly
that it is an art.'

November 11. — C, and Sir , who talked again

of the Poor Law. C. complained to me of having too
much of this from the worthy Baronet. I told him of

1872 LONDON 207

the apprentice who, getting cow's liver for dinner day
after day, remarked at last that liver was very nice for
six months or so, but after that one wanted a change.
C. laughed, and thenceforward used to say, on occasion,
' I've had another dish of liver ! '

Story of the mulatto Scotch gentleman who told a
wandering Irishman asking help that he ought to go to
his own parish. Paddy looked him full in the face :
' I'm thinking your Honour's a long way from your
parish too ! '

1872

January i. — Bright Day, to Cheyne Row at 3.
On my greeting him Carlyle said, ' Yes, this is a New
Year. I don't expect it to be a better one than last,
rather worse.'

I said (remotely hinting at the need of resignation
or stoicism — if nothing better may be had), ' Every
creature can but have its own life — no more than that .'' '
C. assented, ' Yes, that is the case.'

January 2. — Bright, vernal. To C. at 3. We
walked to Hyde Park. He spoke about a curious
old Scotchwoman Susy, a blacksmith's daughter. She
could do quadratic equations in her head, without any
mathematics ; when she had to solve a question she
thwarted it, that was her explanation of her method.
She wrote poetry, and used to say, ' Burns and me are
pure nature.'

Sir Charles Johnston, * a rich, wild man,' gave Susy
a cottage and kail-garden.

C. praised parts of The Ring and the Book very highly
— ' showing a most intimate acquaintance with Italian
life — better, I think, than anything else of Browning,'
he said. ' But the whole is on a most absurd basis.
The real story is plain enough on looking into it ; the
girl and the handsome young priest were lovers.'

I said that B. had neither given us the real story as

2o8 LONDON 1872

he found it, nor, on the other hand, constructed a poem
out of it, and in reading The Ring and the Book I felt (as
I told B. himself) like a creature with one leg and one
wing, half hopping, half flying ; at which C. laughed.
C. said Thackeray's Irish Ballads were the best things
he ever wrote, and quoted (as he often did) with great
gusto and a strong brogue —

'Twould binifit your sowls
To see the butther'd rowls,

laughing heartily afterwards.

For Thackeray's novels, except Esmond^ he had
little praise. The fact is he has not read most of them.

He praises Laurence Bloomfield.

Wednesday^ January 24. — C, dictating to his niece
introduction to the Saga — Heimskringla, Norse chiefs.

Wednesday^ March 6. — Warm. Sit in Carlyle's
room while he is punctuating the Saga translation.
We walk to Hyde Park, dodging the carriages some-
times, at risk. (He may catch his death thus, for he
usually insists on crossing when he has made up his
mind to it, carrying his stick so as to poke it into a
horse's nose at need.) Call at Lady Ashburton's, and
back to Chelsea.

Monday^ March 11. — Death of Mazzini.

Wednesday ^ March 13. — Carlyle's at 3 — friendly.

' Poor Mazzini ! lying dead there — all done, all
over. What a bright young man when he came in
here in 1836 and sat on that sofa! He got into
" solidarity " and all manner of absurdities. He used
to trouble himself about every wretched Italian who
was in any way political. There was one Italian who
fell in love with a danseuse and stabbed himself;
Mazzini took care of him, recovered him, and persuaded
the girl to marry him. Mazzini was indolent, rose late,
and smoked a good many cigars. His mother watched
over him and sent him ^^200 a year, which he never
took care of

i872 LONDON 209

Easter Monday, April i . — Corner of Oakley Street,
see Carlyle in omnibus, help him out and walk home
with him. He speaks of a Scottish First of April
custom — ' Hunt the gowk ! A-pril ! '

Friday, April 12. — to Carlyle at 3 — with him
to London Library : Ruskin's books, W. H. Brookfield,
Thackeray, etc. etc. ; the idle classes ; few pro-
ductive people. I had recommended Petrie's Round
Towers as an authentic memorandum on ancient
Ireland, but C. found it ' intolerably stupid.'

He cares to hear nothing about Ireland save what
feeds his prejudices. His is the least judicial of minds.

Monday, April 11. — Fine. To C. at 3. We
spoke of the Agricultural Labourers' Strike, and I was
somewhat surprised to find C. sympathising with the
men. Speaking of Slavery he said ' work by compul-
sion is little good. You must carry man's volition
along with you if you are to command to any
purpose.'

May II. — Carlyle, Froude, and I. C. talked against
painting, said it was all worthless except portrait-paint-
ing : F. chimed in with him, and remarked in his sub-
sarcastic manner, ' The connoisseurs tell us a Portrait is
no work of Art' — I said, ' O no ! '

F. — ' Well, when I said to Ruskin that I cared for
no pictures but portraits, he replied, " That proves you
care nothing at all about art." '

W. A. — 'But that was not saying that a good portrait
is not a work of art.' I did not go on ; it was merely
tedious and vexatious.

June 24. — To Cheyne Row — 3. C. in lower
room writing behind screen, calls out ' Are you there ,'' '
He has been reading Fifine at the Fair, and saying every
now and again to Browning (though not present),
' What the Devil do you mean } '

July. — To C.'s and see Dr. Carlyle lately from Vichy,
looking hearty. C. speaks of his brother John. Trans-
lated Dante's Inferno ; was private physician to the Duke

2IO LONDON 1872

of Buccleuch. Went to Rome and had good practice
there.

C. speaks of Falstaff in an odd way. ' It is no
picture of a man at all — merely a stage caricature to
make people laugh ; Doll Tearsheet, etc., inconceiv-
able ! '

I could not in the least agree or, of course, in the
least shake him. He was speaking of the Sir John of
Henry IV.

' Henry VI. is not Shakespeare's ; the writer of that
is a stupid man.'

He praises Henry V.^ and especially Agincourt.
He has often urged me to visit and describe the
battle-field ; but I have no enthusiasm for Henry V. —
a horror of him, rather.

One sometimes feels provoked — ' You have said
your say, and I'll say my say, not yours over again,
great as you are ! ' but I believe he is really in his heart
ready to allow any true honest feeling.

Sunday, September 22. — Returned from holiday at
Lynmouth ; go to Cheyne Row at 3, and find C. —
friendly. We walk to Kensington Gardens — sunshiny
but cold. Saint Elizabeth, Marbach, etc. C. quotes
Shakespeare's —

Fear no more the heat o' the sun.

Nor the furious winter's rages ;
Thou thy worldly task hast done.

Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages ;

' One of the prettiest things ever written — that. It is
like the distant tinkle of evening bells. Much comes
of the rhymes — rhymes are valuable sometimes, answer-
ing somehow to the melody within a man's thought and
soul.'

(I was amused by this concession.)

But a man may have skill in metre, and little along
with it, we agreed ; and I quoted Moore's ' Harp that
once through Tara's halls.' C. said, 'Could not be

i872 LONDON 211

better done — by a man who could not do it at all ! — do
anything worth having.'

C.'s ignorance of the technique of Poetry — i.e. the
form and body of it, is astonishing, and by me inexplic-
able. He has read a vast quantity of Poetry, and
admired much that he found there ; countless phrases
from Shakespeare and iVIilton are embedded in his
writings ; he always speaks of ^schylus, Dante, Shake-
speare, Goethe as men of the highest rank. Moreover,
he tried hard, tried over and over again, and in many
various metres, to write Poetry. In his verse you can
hear the sound of an original man, vigour, quaintness,
imagery are there, and for a few lines, less or more, the
movement may go right, but only by chance ; presently
it goes all awry. It is not a question of choosing or
happening to be rough, or of taking liberties : the
Writer, after reading many thousand lines of the best
Poets, remains entirely insensible to the structure of
verse, to the indispensable rules derived from the nature
of the human mind and ear.

He spoke of having once fainted — ' torrents of sleep
descended on the brain ; death, I have thought, will
be like that.'

September. — C. : ' I hear that Burns's nieces, the Miss
Beggs, are paupers. If every Burns' Club throughout
the world would give them one night's punch ! '

' Strauss's Life of Jesus^ a revolutionary and ill-
advised enterprise, setting forth in words what all
wise men had had in their minds for fifty years past,
and thought it fittest to hold their peace about.' (I
could not agree.)

Schiller — an account of his father and family has
lately appeared, and C. is going to translate this, and
add it to the people's edition of his Life of Schiller.

' Perhaps you will let it first appear in Fraser ? '

' That cannot be, sir.' ^

Duke of Wellington. I tell of his reprisals on the

1 Carlyle afterwards allowed it to appear in fraser.

212 LONDON 1872

farmer at Walmer who prevented the Duke from
riding along a bridle-road on his farm. Duke rode
straight to the barracks, spoke to the commanding
officer, and in a few minutes a number of soldiers went
into a turnip-field at the back of the barracks and pulled
up all the turnips growing within a certain number of
yards of the wall, and flung them into the other part of
the field. The ground thus summarily cleared belonged
to Government, and the farmer aforesaid had cultivated
it on sufferance.

Cervantes : his poverty, his nobility and sweetness.

' Don Quixote is a very pretty book : Jarvis's
translation I reckon best ; Smollett's is not good.'

He praised Smollett's own pathos, instancing the bit
from Humphrey Clinker of the blacksmith's wife.

* Cervantes began the Don^ I think, in a mere spirit
of raillery, but gradually saw his way to making a fine
character of him.'

C. read Don Quixote in Spanish at Craigenputtock.

October 'X,. — Carlyle's. Forster has lent C. Democratic
Vistas by Walt Whitman. C. was accustomed to say
of W. W., ' It is as though the town-bull had learnt to
hold a pen.' To-day he had a modicum of praise for
Walt.

' Professor Clifford thinks that three angles of a
triangle may perhaps not be always equal to two right
angles.'

C. — ' Let him prove that, and I'll give him my head
for an ounce of tobacco. God bless us all, what deluges
of delirium are pouring out over the world ! '

October 5. — 'Suicide of Justice .' C, as usual,

speaks of suicide in a matter-of-tact and rather sympa-
thetic tone : ' the Roman death — Venio, Proserpina ! etc'

C. looks through all the principal English Periodicals
and is uneasy to miss one, but seldom finds anything to
praise. I was surprised to-day to find him speaking
with some approval of a paper in the Fortnightly Review
on ' The Morality of Marriage,' advising people to

1872 LONDON 213

restrict the number of children, on economic grounds. I
argued against the public discussion of such a subject in
such a tone. The question, if it arises, is one for private
decision in each case (wife's health for instance may be
weighty consideration), and is not to be settled by
general rules of frugality or economy. When children
are a burden, the constitution of society is accused.
Carlyle would not listen, and I was much hurt and
disturbed by his having, apparently, come round to a
grossly utilitarian view which he once abhorred, and
which he had strongly censured in Stuart Mill. But I
believe that all C. wishes to inculcate is self-denial, and
that he thought of nothing else.

He objects to Taine's book on England, — The
account of the Derby Day — boxing, etc. — ' 1 find it is
not true — it is incredible — inconceivable, etc. etc. ! '
Now C. has never been at the Derby ; I have, — and
can believe it all.

October. — C. said, ' Plato has not been of much use to
me ; a high, refined man : " Odi profanum vulgus."

' Socrates — I didn't get much benefit from him.^

A. — ' His Discourse before his Death 1 '

C. — ' Well, in such a case I should have made no
discourse ; should have wished to be left alone, to
profound reflections.'

We spoke of Candide and its author.

A. — ' Voltaire is always crapulous, often nasty, when
speaking of the relation of the sexes. Very different
from Fielding who, though he takes liberties, warmly
recognises true love.'

C. — ' And I believe Fielding was much attached to
his own wife.'

A. — ' I don't remember anything like love in
Voltaire's writings.'

C. — ' Voltaire is a very questionable sort of article.'

A. — ' But he hated injustice.'

C. — 'Oh, he abhorred that with his whole soul ! . . .'

A. — ' I saw Macbeth the other night ; with Phelps.

214 LONDON 1872

The crowd of witches put on the stage is a great
mistake. The Incantation, — a poet nowadays would
hardly describe the brewage in detail, " Eye of newt
and toe of frog," etc. ; it would be thought vulgar and
ludicrous. Goethe avoided the like in Faust.'

C. — ' Yes ; but all that in the Cauldron Scene is very
clever too. It struck me often in reading Shakespeare
— this man knew a hundred times more about animals,
plants, and all the visible world than I do : how did he
learn it all ? What he needs for his purpose is ready
to hand.'

We walked into Hyde Park by the powder
magazine ; heavy rain came on, and we stood under
a plane tree, C. talking all the time vehemently on
Emigration and urging me to write upon it. I
intimated that I felt little capacity that way, but
would take down anything he dictated. C. laughed,
and said Sir Baldwyn Leighton had offered to send him
a short-hand writer who could write as fast as one spoke.

November i. — Dined at Mr. John Forster's, Palace
Gate House, Kensington. Mr. and Mrs. Forster,
Carlyle and Mary Aitken, Edward Emerson (son of
R. W. E.), and myself.

C.'s description of a charge at Waterloo got from
some eye-witness : two red lines^ one advancing, one
fixed — of dead and wounded. I told the account of
the battle given me by Tom Patten, an old soldier
at Ballyshannon, which amounted to this — he was
' a'most smothered with smoke, and mortial hungry
(nothing to ait all day) ' ; when the French ran away
he prowled about for something to put between his
teeth, and by good luck found a live goose squatting
in a corner ; three or four other men came up and
would have taken it off him, but he defended the
goose at the point of the bayonet, and they agreed that
it should be cooked and shared ; so they plucked it,
made a little fire, and ' ait ' it half raw.

C. laughed, and agreed that we were apt to forget that

i872 LONDON 215

hunger and thirst are often among the trials of a battle-
field.

November 3, Sunday. — Tennyson calls, with Knowles
— sits, looks at books. T. looks well and big. K.
asks me to dinner. Walk, Chelsea Bridge, up to
Clapham Common, dusk, walk about. Dinner — T.
repeats Lincolnshire Nursery Rhvmes, etc.

Art in writing : ' A little thing well done will out-
last a thousand great things not well done.'

Talk — Immortality. F. Harrison in Fortnightly.

T. — ' If I ceased to believe in any chance of another
life, and of a great Personality somewhere in the
Universe, I should not care a pin for anything. People
must have some religion.'

K. — ' I said to Manning — we're all coming back to
you by and by.'

T. — ' I have often thought the day of Rome would
come again.'

A. — ' We ought at least to try and hinder the worst
absurdities from coming back.'

I walk back, over Chelsea Bridge.

November 5. — To Carlyle's. We spoke of the
' Immortality Dinner,' otherwise Metaphysical Society.
Fraser — paper on the stars.

C. — -' It seems the stars are racing along at an inex-
pressible rate of speed. But I care next to nothing about
it, let them race as they will. There are much grander
and more important subjects for contemplation.'

The Fenian meeting in Hyde Park on Saturday —
' Fitzjames Stephen and I passed through the tail of it;
they were mainly London idlers. What are we coming
to } People intend to try Atheism awhile. They will
not find it answer.'

A. — ' When the main road of dogma has become a
quagmire, people will get back to Religion by byways,
as it were. Domestic love will not fail. The love of
Nature, too, I own I think a powerful help to religious
feeling.'

2i6 LONDON 1872

C. (as I knew he would). — ' Ho ! there's not much
in that. A great deal of sham and affectation is in the
raptures people express about Nature ; ecstasies over
mountains and waterfalls, et cetera. I perceive that
most people really get much the same amount of good
out of all that that I do myself: I have a kind of
content in it ; but any kind of Nature does well enough.
I used to find the moorlands answer my purpose as well
as anything, — great, brown shaggy expanses, here and
there a huge boulder-stone — "There you lie, God knows
how long ! " '

I intimated dissent, but knew that discussion would
be useless.

Coming back, we spoke of hand- writing ; bad
writing is hard on the printers, who lose wages by it.

C. — ' I could not be taught to write at school ; the
master gave it up in despair. I taught myself after-
wards. A hand should be legible, neat, and saving in
space. I was very economical in paper, perhaps too
much so — I used to bind myself to do so many pages of
writing every day, before I went out to other affairs.
I don't quite approve of your hand ; it looks hurried.
I like my own as well as any I have seen.'

November 6. — To C. at 3. Found him dictating to
Mary about Schiller ; description of S., — long nose, long
neck, awkward.

C. said, ' The veritable living Emerson was with me
to-day ; hair all gone from the back of his head, but
cheerful. He asked about Matthew Arnold, but I
could give him little satisfaction as to Matthew. He
mentioned you.'

Saturday^ November 9. — Note from Edward Emer-
son, ' Father at 1 1 Down St., hoping to see you in
the evening.' Walk to Down St. Emerson and his
daughter Ellen. He said, ' Carlyle called to-day —
his humour runs into everything, hearty laugh, excellent
company — has always something memorable to say in
choice language.'

1872 LONDON 217

E. — ' London — much improved to the eye.

' Matthew Arnold — his book on Homer good.

' Dr. Wendell Holmes, — a man with us who writes
(perhaps you have not heard of him.''), said he could
find nothing to read ; everything appeared to him slow.
I said, " I have a book at home which is not slow," and
lent him Matthew Arnold on Homer. He said he
could read any quantity of books like that.

' Matthew Arnold called on me when I was in
London before, but our interview was interrupted
before I got any good of him.

' Canada — Americans will not take any definite step,
they feel that Canada must come into the Confederation,
and will of herself. American party in Canada always
at work.'

A. — ' Tennyson and Carlyle are for keeping together
the Empire — Canada, Australia, India, etc'

E. — ' Is not the case of India different } I think the
world would applaud England if, after due preparation,
she withdrew from India.'

Going now to Italy, Athens, perhaps Egypt, to
return to London in the Spring. ' My curiosity has
increased with years.'

December 23. — Carlyle's. Drove to Athenasum Club.
Natural scenery : ' any part of Nature is wonderful.'

His first view of the river Annan, ' running solemnly
down with a slight rippling.'

I said I dreamed much of wonderful landscapes.
Did he ,?

C. — 'I do work upon Scenery sometimes; I dreamed
every night, for about six months, of Ecclefechan as a
wild wide moorland.'

One day Carlyle said, ' I have for many years strictly
avoided going to church, or having anything to do
with Mumbo-Jumbo. I stood sponsor the other day
to Sir Baldwyn Leighton's child ; I didn't like it, but
was told it was only a form. I don't think it was
right. I have an unfortunate difficulty in saying No'

21 8 LONDON 1872

Speaking of Memorials of a Quiet Life^ he said, * I
cried over it. It brought back my old world — I used
to ride to Hurstmonceaux in summer — couldn't stay
on the road. I was strong enough for anything then.

' I was forced into resistance to the intellectual
position of the men (Julius and Augustus Hare), but
as to the women all was clear and right. They had
no doubts. Julius used to attack me for my heresies ;
always giving me due and grave notice. But when
the attack came, it was really so mild that it made no
impression on me one way or another.'

One day I found him with the Life of Beethoven^
edited by Moscheles.

He said, ' 1 have been wading through it. I can
perceive that there may be a great deal of expression
in Beethoven's music, if I could understand it — as
I never could. We are to think that the greatest thing
a man can do is to write a sonata, which I cannot at all
believe ! '

[Another day] — ' Goethe and Diderot are the only
critics of pictures who seem to me to talk sense.
Diderot explained what was told by the picture, and
afterwards how it ought to have been done.'

Carlyle was entirely against the use of any sort of
sedative and anaesthetic drug. The smallest dose of an
opiate made him feel poisoned. He held chloroform
in surgical operations to be a mistake : ' the pain a
natural accompaniment and has its use.' The only
medicine he believed in was blue-pill.

CHAPTER XIII

1873-1874

London y January i, 1873. — ^^ Carlyle's at 3. He
gives me a book. We walk out.

This morning he said, ' after midnight, as Mary and
I were sitting together, we heard a chorus of male voices
outside the window singing Auld Lang Syne. We
peeped out, and saw five or six figures on the other side
of the street. I was really touched. I put up the
window and said " Good-night ! " one of them eagerly
replied '* Good-night ! " and then they all vanished silently
away.' Then with a laugh he added, ' Truly the songs
of Judah in a Babylonish land ' ! and afterwards quoted
Burns's burlesque lines : —

We hung our fiddles up to dreep, etc.

He spoke of * Hogmanay ' in the streets of Edin-
burgh, hot punch and kissing.

There used to be gangs of footpads in Edinburgh.
C. was once struck on the head by them and had his
hat broken. He saw three young men of this kind
hanged.

* Before that I had seen a man from Liddesdale,
Armstrong by name, hanged for horse-stealing. He
was a strong man, grimly silent. His body spun and
twitched horribly. I saw it before my eyes in the dark
and in daylight for weeks. At last I drew the horrible
figure on paper as exactly as I could, and thenceforth it

219

220 LONDON 1873

ceased to haunt me. I saw another execution — of an
old woman who killed an infant, bastard of her son, and
who had the reputation of a witch. She declared they
could not hang her. She was a mere old wrinkled
wretched bundle of some sort.*

January 21. — C. picked up a bit of bread in the
street and put it on a ledge, blaming such ' waste of
food.'

He often praised Cobbett's Cottage Economy, ?in6 spoke
of a poor woman who took up straw-plaiting from it.

February 7. — Arranged with Messrs. Longman,
Green and Co. for the publication of an edition of the
Rambles of Patricius Walker.

March 16. — To C, Sir Baldwyn Leighton there,
who asks, ' What has Emerson written } '

C. — ' Oh, many little books, which are very well worth
reading. English Traits can be highly recommended
to any Englishman's attention. Emerson often spins
things out to an extreme tenuity ; but he has a fine
lofty tone — the highest kind of thing America has to
show us ; and Emerson himself is very sweet and
equable in disposition.'

Carlyle and Emerson — they recognised each other
as no common men, liked each other, praised each
other ; each was idealised to the other by distance of
space and difference of circumstance, and in a way
represented to his friend a whole strange nation of
peculiar interest.

In the published correspondence are plentiful hints
that C. thought E. too much in the air, and E. thought
C. too much on the ground.

You hear E. calling ' Come up ! ' and C. calling
' Come down ! '

Carlyle's genius wants the poetic flavour of the
feminine.

Emerson to Carlyle — as an angel to a genie, as light
to fire. E. holds up a mild steady lamp, like the full
moon ; C. brandishes a huge torch.

1873 LONDON 221

Saturday, April 19. — To South Kensington Museum,
Emerson and Browning in the porch, Miss E. inside.
Walk round musical instruments. Browning looks
fondly at Handel's favourite harpsicord, Michael Angelo's
' Slave,' Donatello's 'St. George,' etc. Japanese temples :
devils as spouts.

B. says, ' Same on Christian temples, devils are
made to serve.'

W. A. — ' To remind people of what they must fear.'

Wednesday, April 23. — Call at Royal Institution,
2.40 ; upstairs Miss E., Tyndall, Huxley, Emerson ;
Huxley (looks ill), ' Indigestion — so depressing.'

W. A. — 'Carlyle boasts of having had it continuously
for fifty years — says it includes all the evils of life.'

H. — ' I believe it does.'

Tyndall opens book of Icebergs.

' Your toes are tingling to climb them.'

' Old love of mine. When at Tennyson's I climbed
down a precipice at Freshwater — nearly sacrificed
another guest. That was P., the publisher, a pity he
escaped.'

E., Miss E. and I in cab — past Garrick Club ; E. an
honorary member ; Blue Coat Schoolboys at play ;
Guildhall, Gog and Magog, New Free Library,
splendid room, write names.

Letter of Nelson from the Nile — * Britannia still
rules the waves, and that she may ever do so is the
sincere prayer of ... '

Emerson much amused at this. Out by back way
and by desire to St. Giles's, Cripplegate ; Milton's tomb,
slab in aisle — bust moved from pillar, and put under a
foolish canopy against wall.

E. — ' Do many persons come to look at Milton's
grave } '

Sexton. — ' Americans, sir.'

Crosby Hall, London Bridge, St. Saviour's ; Gower,
Massinger. Monument to (Wm.) ' Emerson, who
lived and died an honest man, 1695.'

222 LONDON 1873

E. says he does not care for Massinger's writing ;
there are some good lines of Gower.

The Tabard looks very shabby and mean.

(Missed the Bull and the Green Dragon) return in
cab to Down St.

I show E. my little green edition of his Eight
Essays^ which I have long carried in my pocket ; he
looks carefully at my pencil marks.

His daughter says, ' that's just what Father likes to
see, hints of real opinions, etc, ; in a letter, that which
is omitted in sending is what he mostly wishes to see.'

E. asks what my marks mean — ' what is + 500 .f* '
(Sin is but defeat).

A. — 'That the statement is 500 times questionable.'

After a short discussion E. said smiling, ' I agree
with the author.'

Talk till it is time for him to dress for dinner.

(At Lady Airlie's) — Poetry — 'The Touchstone ' ; E.
offers to make a selection of my poems for publication
in America — Good-bye.

Cold — hail, walk, Hyde Park.

Sunday^ April 27. — Call at the Priory on Mr. and
Mrs. Lewes — friendly reception. Mrs. Lewes had sent
me her 'reproachful regards.'

Carlyle, Emerson, Max Miiller on Language. Lewes
agrees that language makes an impassable gulf between
man and the lower animals, but this does not touch the
Darwinian theory.

Mrs. Lewes says ' Emerson would have liked to hear
some of Browning's opinions. Have you ever heard
any of Browning's opinions ^ '

April 28. — At Carlyle's house about 3. He spent
about fifteen minutes in trying to clear the stem of a long
clay pipe with a brass wire, and in the end did not
succeed. The pipe was new, but somehow obstructed.
At last he sent for another one and smoked, and we got
out at last. (I never saw him smoke in public.) He
said Emerson had called on him on Sunday, and he

1873 LONDON 223

meant to visit E. to-day at his lodging in Down Street.
We walked to Hyde Park by Queen's Gate, and west-
ward along the broad walk next to the ride, with the
Serpentine a field distant on the left hand. This was a
favourite route of his. I was well content to have the
expectation of seeing Emerson again, and, moreover,
Emerson and Carlyle together. We spoke of Masson's
Life of Milton^ a volume of which was on C.'s table.
He said Masson's praise of Milton was exaggerated.
' Milton had a gift in poetry — of a particular kind.

' Paradise Lost is absurd ; I never could take to it at
all, — though now and again clouds of splendour rolled
in upon the scene '

' But V Allegro and // Penseroso — you can find
nothing better.' I quoted —

Over some wide-water'd shore
Swinging slow with sullen roar.

C. — ' That is very good. He did not find that at
Horton.'

W. A. — ' At Cambridge, he might.'

C— ' No, no ! '

W. A. — ' The bell over the levels '

C. — ' It's the sound of the sea.''

W. A. — ' The sound of a bell — the curfew.'

^C. — * No, no ! The sound of the sea, — that is what
he is speaking of —

Swinging slow with sullen roar.'

We then discussed Emerson, whom C. described as
* a mild, pure, gentle spirit.'

Some one had said of Emerson that he spent his life
in ' making sentences ' ; 'an unfriendly remark,' said
C, ' yet with some truth in it.' But of whom may
not unfriendly things be said with some truth in them .?
And Emerson has made golden sentences, diamond
sentences, sentences to be always grateful for.

At Hyde Park Corner C. stopped and looked at
the clock.

224 LONDON 1873

' You are going to Down St., sir ? '

' No, it's too late.'

* The place is close at hand.'

' No, no, it's half-past five.'

So he headed for Knightsbridge, and soon after I
helped him into a Chelsea omnibus, banning internally
the clay pipe (value a half-penny farthing) through
v^hich this chance (perhaps the last, for Emerson is
going away soon) was lost.

The chance never did come again.

Friday^ May 2. — Bright and mild. To Carlyle
3.15. We walk, Kensington Gardens. C. said, 'Here
is May — poor May ! not forward with her work this
time — Tyndall has not come near me lately ; I must
touch him up. O yes, he's very fond of me — but
perhaps he was vexed by an outburst of mine against
Darwinism. I find no one who has the deep abhorrence
of it that I have in my heart of hearts ! Science, falsely
so called. Tyndall is Irish, but not an inaccurate
Irishman. He is jocular, and not without a touch of
blarney. Has Huxley indigestion .? — lucky not to
have had experience of it sooner. Huxley attacks
Herbert Spencer, with many polite bows and recogni-
tions.'

Kensington Gardens — we sit on felled trees, amid a
strong odour of bark, which C. does not, I think,
perceive. He praises Charles Norton : ' a serious
man — he is attached to America, but sees well enough
too the dreadful plague of money-worship there, and
the manifold evils that are, and are to be, from that.'

Monday^ May 12. — Fine and warm. To C. 3.15.
' Not seen you for a long time.'

He is smoking, throws a printed circular into the fire,
and denounces the Promoters of Companies — promoters
of Gambling — 'damnable fellows deserving to be horse-
whipt ' (emphasis on the second word).

Walk along the Fulham Road — Browning's Red
Cotton Night-Cap Country. C. tells the story very

,873 LONDON 225

clearly (he always likes doing this kind of feat), and
says there are ' ingenious remarks here and there ; but
nobody out of Bedlam ever before thought of choosing
such a theme.'

Agrees that B. may possibly take up the Tichborne
Case next.

Tuesday, May 13. — To C. 3.10. Walk, Gloucester
Road, Kensington Gardens, sit.

' Browning w/// very likely do the Claimant by and by.'

' And call it, what .'' Gammon and Spinach, perhaps.'

C. in Germany. N.B. — He has kept a longish diary
of his German tour.

In May and June I walked with Carlyle various
times, but made few notes of our conversations.

Monday, June 9. — Met Carlyle. We had been
talking, on some previous day or days, about Stratford
on Avon, to which I had paid a visit this May. When
I quoted the tombstone lines ' Good Friend, for Jesus
sake forbear,' etc., C. wished to correct me to ' Sweet
Friend,' and would not be gainsaid : indeed he has
used the ' Sweet Friend,' etc., several times in his
writings and very frequently in conversation, and would
not give it up save on compulsion. To-day I brought
proof in my pocket in the shape of a photograph of the
stone with its inscription clearly legible, and as we sat
on a tree-trunk I showed this to him in the quietest
possible way — (not the least air of triumph, overt or
covert). He looked at the photograph, said nothing or
very little (' Ah, well,' perhaps, or the like), and handed
it back without any formal retractation, though further
argument was plainly impossible ; and not long after-
wards (I mean a few weeks later) he was using his
beloved old formula, ' Sweet Friend,' as if nothing had
happened, and so continued.

June 30. — To C. at 3. In a new book he found
' — Whatever are you doing .'' ' — ' an abominable word.'

We walked to Hyde Park, talking of Russian Tales,
Gaelic Tales, J. F. Campbell, and Macpherson. The

226 LONDON 1873

Highlanders C. once more declared to be of Scandinavian
origin.

Thornton Hunt is dead — ' Leigh Hunt was saying
one day, what a fine thing it would be if a subscrip-
tion could be made to abolish Hell\ but I remarked,
" Decidedly a bad investment, that would be ! " — which
grieved Hunt considerably.'

Saturday^ July 19. — To C.'s, carrying some books of
poetry to him. He is having a course of reading in
English Poetry, and I have lent him Hazlitt's Selections^
Campbell's, etc. Walk, Carlyle, Mr. Robert Tait and
I ; C. speaks of Dryden's Alexander s Feast.

' Handel's music decupled the effect of the poetry :
this is what music ought to do.'

Talking of scenery C. told of two rustic Scotchmen
who found themselves by some chance at Ailsa Craig ;
they stared in astonishment at the great sea-precipices.
At last one said to the other, ' Eh, Jock, Nature's
deevilish ! '

The Smith near C.'s father. C. describes minutely
the situation of the smithy. ' Smith a great arguer ;
used to say, " Tak' ayther side ye like, an' I'll doon
ye ! " He was popularly said to make a pudding for
himself at Christmas time of horsenails, and this was
supposed to keep his bones green. Poor John ! poor
fellow ! '

Monday^ July 28. — C. urges me to visit Crecy and
Agincourt on my holiday ; but the truth is that (while
I know what the lust of battle is, and read eagerly the
story of a well-fought fight, from Waterloo to Tom
Sayers) these old invasions of France by the English
seem to me acts of violent injustice, — disgusting and
useless butchery.

July 29. — Carlyle tells me he is ' sitting ' to Whistler.
If C. makes signs of changing his position W. screams
out in an agonised tone, ' For God's sake, don't move ! '

C. afterwards said that all W.'s anxiety seemed to
be to get the coat painted to ideal perfection ; the face

1873 LONDON 227

went for little. He had begun by asking two or three
sittings, but managed to get a great many.

At last C. flatly rebelled. He used to define W. as
the most absurd creature on the face of the earth.

C. — ' I met Cary, translator of Dante, a wise-looking
old man, but neglected to speak to him, through shy-
ness. The Kilmarnock weaver prayed, " The Lord gie
us a guid conceit o' oursells ! " — and I would have been
better of some additional share in every situation in my
life. Still, real self-conceit is the most poisonous thing
can get into a man's mind.'

August 28. — Left London by boat for Honfleur and

arrived there on the 30th

September 14. — Carlyle remarked, 'I believe I have
been a Ritter of some sort these twenty years or more.
The diploma is in the drawer yonder.'

W. A. — ' Have you ever put on the decoration ? '
C. — ' There 's no decoration.'

Mary. — * O yes : the decoration's in the drawer with
the diploma.'

October 8. — I returned from a little tour in
Normandy, Brittany, Jersey and Guernsey.

October 9. — Carlyle. * Tom Paine has been entirely
misrepresented. When I read The Rights of Man I
found I agreed with him.'

I amused him by quoting from a speech of Lord
Derby (on Education), reported in the newspaper, * We
have no reason to despair of greatly limiting the area
and scope of imbecility in future.' He laughed loud
and said, ' that would be a very excellent thing if it
could be managed.'

Carlyle had thought much of writing a life of
Napoleon, or book of some kind upon him ; ' but the
more I looked into him,' he said, ' the more I perceived
him to be of the Brigand species.'

October 10, — I found C. had been reading Lanfrey's
book. He said, ' I am amazed at the character of
Napoleon, — it is most devilish ! '

22 8 LONDON 1873

Napoleon must have been dreadfully disconcerting
to C.'s theory of Power and Goodness going together.
He used to deny that Napoleon was a great general ;
' Circumstances (he would say) gave him unbounded
means, and he lavished them recklessly, he cared not
how many soldiers he lost : this is not Generalship.'

October 28. — Carlyle's. W. W. Story the sculptor.
S. and I speak of Browning. J. S. Mill's autobio-
graphy. I walk with Mr. Story to Alexandra Hotel.
He is returning to Rome through Paris.

November 7. — Lady Ashburton about Latin tutor
for her daughter. C. praises Mary B.

' Tom Stanley going to stand for Maidstone against
Lubbock. Amberley, etc'

C. preaches morals ; and then talks without censure
of Goethe at Weimar and Frau von Stein.

Leslie Stephen writing on Jonathan Edwards. C. :
' What is the use of it } — sticking like a wood-louse to
an old bed-post and boring one more hole in it. — There
is deep truth in Calvinism.'

November 17. — C. speaks of the second part of
Faust^ which he has been reading again : ' All this is
very inferior to Shakespeare.'

We talked of death — I recalled Goethe's conversation
with Falk on the day of Wieland's funeral, and how he
spoke of the continuance of existence after death as a
thing of course, and said some very remarkable things.

C. said, ' I have thought little of this, pro or con. I
long ago despaired of any response to such an inquiry.'

On another day about the same time he said to me,
' Dying of old age is a painful process. Still, this may
be called an euthanasia, — and there are flaming glimpses
and glories sometimes among the deepening clouds.'

One day Carlyle said to me, ' Life's a Dream.'

Tennyson (who was in town) said to me the very
same words on, I think, the very same day, without any
reference having been made to the conversation with C,
and while talking on a difi^erent subject.

1873 LONDON 229

C. has no belief at all in the efficiency of the
British Army : ' nobody connected with it has the least
knowledge of the art of war. Our officers ought to be
sent to Germany to learn something of this, and one
or two of our Royal Princes ought to go.'

December 2. — Germany and Frederick — Carlyle
visited various battlefields and ' found something to go
on ; Frederick occupied me thirteen years ; about
eight in writing ; I knew I should have mountains of
dust and rubbish to swallow. I thought I could manage
somehow brevi manu. But it was infinitely worse than
I had ever prefigured. I thought of nothing else for
eight years : used to go about and say to myself, " What
kind of man is this Frederick } What does all this
talk about him mean } incredible most of it, clearly
incredible." '

W. A. — ' Did you read about nothing else } '
C. — ' Hardly anything, — except something very
notable now and then. My mind was full of Frederick.
I used to ride a great deal then, and when I came in I
had usually an hour's bright talk or so (ah me !), and
then after dinner sat down to Frederick^ — she silent in
another corner of the room. Often, I think, she would
have been glad to speak to me — ah dear ! . . . Well,
it nearly killed me. It was the desire and longing of
my life to finish it.

' When it was done I felt ill in body and much
discomposed.'

W. A.—' But it is done.'

C. (quietly and perhaps sadly) — 'Yes, it is done.'
C. despised oratory, yet much of his writing is akin
to Oratory. Whatever he takes up he impresses upon
you with all the emphasis of his forcible nature, and all
his skill of language. When the Reader has recovered
breath he may sometimes suspect that a claim has been
made upon his attention and nervous system, dispropor-
tionate to the real importance of the matter.

The Frederick Book might be called the reductio ad

230 LONDON 1874

ahsurdum of Carlyleism. Yet, on the other hand, take
— that very Book. Suppose you care little or nothing at
all for the King of Prussia and his concerns, — if you
care for Literature and for Genius, here is a supreme
work of Literary Genius, here is the best that a truly
Great Man of the literary sort found himself able to
give you by the conscientious devotion of thirteen
laborious years ; here is spread out legibly before you
a world of wit, humour, picture, narrative, character,
history, thought, wisdom, shrewdness, learning, insight.
Open it where you will, the page is alive.

1874

January 23. — C. has a bad cold, very unusual with
him. We call at Froude's, who is gone out. C.
manages to get as far as Sloane St. — his laughing
always ends in a cough.

Speaks of Sartor Resartus. ' I did not then, and
never did, and do not now, think highly of Sartor.
And when I get letters such as often come from young
men — Oh, so impressed with Sartor ! it almost makes me
sick. But I thought I might perhaps get ^^150 for it.'

Sartor sold better than any of C.'s other books in the
cheap edition. He used to mention this, with a protest
against ' the foolish people ' who showed this preference
for a book ' of very little value.'

He often said, ' The only book of mine I care at all
about is the Cromwell.^

C. told me he at first got Sartor printed with capital
letters to all the nouns, but on full consideration gave
up the plan. One complete copy was so printed, and
in after years he sent this away in a box of books, gift
to a needy individual whose name I forget (if he told
me). C. never heard more about said box, and thinks
it was perhaps lost in transit. So the Bookstall-hunter
may set down this unique copy of Sartor among his
possible discoveries.

i874 LONDON 231

Mem. — Sartor Resartus : was the title suggested by
an old song called ' The Tailor Done-over ' ?

* The Niebelungen Lied is the prettiest thing we have
out of the Middle Ages. There is no English transla-
tion of it. That would be a fine thing for you to do,
it would be a lasting work. I felt, once, I had got into
it, and could have done it if I had been able to write
poetry.'

February 13. — Carlyle has received the German
order Pour le Merite — black ribbon with silver line
near each edge ; he dictates to Mary letters to the
Ambassador and to Berlin, but cannot phrase them to
his mind.

We walked to Palace Gate : returning saw the red
glare in the sky of a great fire. C. quoted —
A little spark makes muckle wark.

It was the Storehouse called Pantechnicon, near
Belgrave Square, which had boasted itself fire-proof.

'Lord Salisbury's article in the Quarterly (" Difficulties
of the Liberal Party ") is good, and so quietly worded !
I thought with shame how impossible it would have
been for me to avoid bursting out into the most violent
language.'

C. — * Gordon Bennett, an Aberdeen man, pushed
himself into notice by scurrility. Somebody once said
to Daniel O'Connell in a London room, bringing forward
a stranger, " May I introduce to you Mr. Gordon
Bennett ^ " O'Connell replied " No, you may not.
Neither you nor any man alive may introduce to me Mr.
Gordon Bennett." Best thing I ever heard of Dan.'

W. A. — ' The blossoms are coming out.'

C. — ' Ah, yes, poor things ! '

March 23. — To C.'s 3.30. C. lends me a pair of
' model braces.' He highly admires some practical
little inventions, and thinks it must have been one of
the most ingenious of modern men who thought of
putting metal eyes into the lace-holes of boots and shoes.
Walk to Hyde Park — ' Forster's Dickens — next to

232 LONDON 1874

BoswelU We crossed the crowded drive and Carlyle
was nearly run over ; on reaching the opposite foot-path
he laughed and quoted —

There's a sweet little Cherub that sits up aloft,
To keep watch o'er the life of poor Jack.

March 30. — Carlyle spoke of the first Nigger
Minstrels in this country ; some one took him to a
theatre to hear them. He was extremely tickled by
their ' tempest of enthusiasm about nothing at all ' ; and
imitated 'Who's dat knocking at the door' with energy.

Saturday^ April 5. — Easter Day. Carlyle, Mary and
I to Millais' Studio, ' North Pole ' (Trelawney).^

J. E. M. big and stout, with cap on.

Tuesday^ April 20. — C. and I walk past Rajah's
fountain ; Carlyle (as his habit is) takes his hat off at
the spot where he supposes his Wife to have died, and
keeps it off for a quarter of a minute or so.

May 24. — Carlyle spoke of his College days. ' The
Mathematical Professor had no single word of encourage-
ment or advice to give me. I studied the Evidences
of Christianity for several years, with the greatest desire
to be convinced, but in vain. I read Gibbon, and then
first clearly saw that Christianity was not true. Then
came the most trying time of my life. I should either
have gone mad or made an end of myself had I not
fallen in with some very superior minds.'

He then imitated very comically the Professor of
Theology at Edinburgh, who was extremely emphatic
in addressing his class. ' The Devil, after succeeding
in his vile machinations retires to his infernal den and
grins with horrid satisfaction ! ' . . . This led to talk
on elocution, and C. repeated the lines —

There was a man of Thessaly,
And he was wondrous wise, etc.,

in the manner of Macready, and did it with great point
and effect.

^ Edward John Trelawney, the friend of Byron and Shelley, sat to
Millais for the old mariner in his picture, ' The North Pole.*

i874 LONDON 233

May 27. — The post of Historiographer Royal for
Scotland was ' about to be offered ' to Carlyle, but the
attack on Dizzy in Shooting Niagara put a stop to this.
So C. told me to-day.

There was a throng at Hyde Park Corner, but C.
ran into the middle of the street, at a risk, to catch a
Chelsea omnibus.

June 2. — Walk with C. and Professor Bain to Hyde
Park, iTalk of size of heads. C. said (I think)
that his own head was 23I- inches round, one inch more
than Burns's. Goethe's head was large, Byron's small.
Browning's is small. Whewell's brain was found to
be shrunk. The brain of ordinary persons begins to
shrink at sixty, of superior men not till seventy, Grote's
head was large, but his brain was found to be light.
Greatest weight of a brain about 62 oz.

C.'s present height, five feet eleven — ' I used to
reckon myself six feet.'

Thursday^ June 25. — C, and I walked on the Chelsea
Embankment. He praised Wren, always a favourite
of his : ' I was some years in Chelsea before I took
particular notice of the Hospital, and then I perceived
it to be an honest, dignified structure, admirably adapted
to its uses. St. Paul's is a very fine thing.'

I hinted that the visible Dome is but a wooden shell
covering something like a glass-house chimney ; C. did
not take any notice of this fact, but went on with his
eulogy,

' I remember (this was on his first visit to London)
catching a glimpse from Cheapside of the huge Dome,
its gold finger pointing to Heaven ; human creatures
creeping about (I one of them) on our petty errands.
It was and is the grandest building I ever saw,'

For Westminster Abbey, or for any Gothic building,
C, I think, cared nothing.

[In June of this year Allingham became editor of
Frasers Magazine^ and on August 22 he was married
to Helen Paterson. The diary begins again in October,

234 LONDON 1874

when they are back in London, at their new home,
12 Trafalgar Square, Chelsea.]

Thursday^ October 8. — Helen and I about 9.30 to
5 Cheyne Row. Upstairs : Carlyle in gray dressing-
gown, reading. Mary Aitken ; C. returned lately
from Scotland.

' Saw many things that were interesting and pathetic
to me — at Kirkcaldy, the Provost extremely attentive.
To Edinburgh ; wished to speak to no one, but could
not manage that. St. Andrews, curious place — ruins,
getting larger now.'

Tuesday^ October 13. — C. : 'Dizzy the most ambitious
of living men — was dreadfully unhappy in his time of
obscurity ; believes in nothing whatever but success.
Has undoubted toughness, the Jew quality — as Goethe
noted. His novels worth little or nothing. His address
to the young men of Glasgow almost as empty as if '* the
people's William " had made it. Dizzy no humour,
no love in his jesting. Even Swift had real humour,
could really banter and enjoy a joke, the grimmest real
humourist I know of. Gulliver merry reading.'

October or November. — Emerson Tennent — he went
to Greece in 1824, to help the cause. He had an
album in which Campbell promised to write something ;
it came back to Tennent with the following line in-
scribed in it —

My dear Sir, you are going away to Greece, and you have the
best wishes of, my dear Sir, Yours faithfully, Thomas Campbell.

C. — ' Spedding's Bacon : a most admirable work,
has brought together every fact with the utmost
diligence, honesty, and good judgment, and produced
a book of great value, which is almost unreadable from
its flatness and prolixity. He shows Bacon as a
thoroughly respectable character and an opulent mind.
Bacon had a power of swift deliberation — if that be
not a contradiction in terms. But he was an unfruitful
man in matters of science.'

CHAPTER XIV

1875

January 7. — Walk with Carlyle to Piccadilly. He
said, ' Froude's History of England is too long, ought
to be melted down to a third part. Fr. is hardly just
to Elizabeth, has brought up all her foibles. His treat-
ment of Mary is harsh. The sneer at her faded charms
in the execution scene gave me a shudder.'

January 11. — Helen and I call at Cheyne Row
about half past ten in the evening — show him proof of
Early Kings of Norway^ second article. (He is particular
to the minutest point, and rages against printers. Mary
copied out all the MS., with no small labour.)

January 15. — Carlyle calls at my house about 4.
I go with him in omnibus to Oxford Circus, and we
walk to Wells Street for Samuel Laurence's Studio.
The painter is gone for the day, but a civil pleasant
woman shows us in, and we see L.'s copy of the picture
which C. maintains to be of John Knox — also portrait of
Thackeray. We walk down Regent Street to Piccadilly.
C. in a very kind mood ; he into omnibus.

February i. — To C.'s at 10 in the evening. He
sitting with Mary, at work (correcting new edition of
Frederick).

' This is a good number of Eraser. Froude is
coming home.' Vegetarianism. ■*" — ""^

Has received from Disraeli an offer of the Grand
Cross of the Bath ; also intimation that the Oueen

235

236 LONDON 1875

would provide money by pension or otherwise. , . .
' rhis is magnanimous of Dizzy ! '

I doubted that ; thought it would be a great triumph
to D. to be able to confer public favours on those who
had publicly despised him, and put famed and haughty
men under obligation to him.

April 2. — C. spoke of Sydney Smith, to whom he
was able to give no praise at all. ' The nature of true
Wit is very much misunderstood. Sydney said nothing
worth remembering. He said " it took a surgical
operation to get a joke into a Scotchman's head " ; the
thing is, that what Sydney presented was not a joke
worth admitting into any one's head, and the Scotchman
refused to have anything to do with it. The Scotch
are a people with a large appreciation of fun very
generally among them. ... I remember seeing Sydney
Smith setting himself to make a company laugh, and I
left him there at it, reflecting what a wretched ambition
it was in any man.'

June 12. — With Carlyle and Dr. John Carlyle to
Hyde Park Corner. Ruskin's pamphlet on the Royal
Academy — ' more coherent and reasonable than some
he has written.

' I never was at a Royal Academy Exhibition. I
was taken in once to the Hall to see a bust of myself —
a wretched, absurd thing, — and should have been glad
at any time to hear of its having been dragged out by a
rope round its neck and pounded into lime-dust.'

He spoke of a debate long ago at the London
Library about the appointment of a Librarian. C. was
for one man, Gladstone for a certain Italian. C. said :
' I discovered then that Gladstone had the art of
speaking. He and I were like Valentine and Orson.
I laid about me with a rough club, he got up in shining
armour and drew his sword. But all in vain, too ; by
no sleight of fence could he carry his point.
I ' The London Library is choked with foolish books.'

7«/y 6.— Thomas Campbell. C, a youth' at

i875 LONDON 237

Edinburgh University, was greatly struck by Campbell's
lyrics — especially ' The Battle of the Baltic ' and
' Lochiel ' ; and when coming to London procured an
introduction to the Poet. ' I found him one day in his
house somewhere near the Edgeware Road, and was
much disappointed ; — a little man in a black scratch
wig, luminous eyes, but unkind looking, with a belli-
gerent expression. He was unhappy and snappish, —
thought I wanted something of him in the way of
magazine work or literary introductions, — which I did
not at all ; and I soon took my leave.'

Friday^ July 23. — To Cheyne Row about 10.15 ^^
the evening. Carlyle, Dr. C, Mary. My sketch of
Campbell to Bell's new edition. C. praised it on the
whole, but thought me ' rather stingy ' in my estimate
of Campbell's poetry. Talked of Dr. Beattie : ' It was
a curious thing, that shriek of joy which Beattie reports
as the last thing. No one but Beattie could give any
opinion as to what it meant. Probably it meant nothing
at all, — was a mere physical convulsion.'

' Your poor friend PlimsoU ' — C. sympathised with
him. (He often calls the selfish shipowners 'Cannibals.')

Carlyle spoke with respect of sailors ; their occupa-
tion brought them into close contact with the eternal
verities of the universe. But, as matter of experience,
is the average sailor a superior man '^.

He learned smoking as a schoolboy. It is the only
' creature comfort ' that has given him any satisfaction.
After working for some hours he always has ' an inter-
lude of tobacco.' He smokes long clay pipes, made at
Paisley, whence he gets them by the box. * No pipes
good for anything can be got in England.' He likes
best a new pipe, and used, when first I knew him, to
smoke a new pipe every day, its predecessor being put
out at night on the door-step for who would to carry
away.

I have more than once heard Carlyle talk about
Tennyson's smoking, and also T. of Carlyle's. Each

238 LONDON 1875

thought the other smoked too much — or at all events
too strong tobacco. T. carefully dries his tobacco
before putting it into the pipe, which, he says, lessens
the strength, while C. asserts that this process makes
it stronger. T. has a wooden frame for his pipes,
I holding, I think, fourteen, which hangs over the
chimney-piece of his study, and he smokes No. i
to-day. No. 2 to-morrow, and so on, coming round in
J a fortnight to No. i again.

I Saturday, July 24. — Mr. William Black the

novelist wrote to me some days ago to ask if I could
take him to Carlyle — ' one of the few ambitions of
my life.' I asked leave ; and to-day Mr. B. lunched
with Helen and me, and I took him down to Cheyne
Row. C. received him civilly, and we three walked
by the Embankment, Chelsea Hospital, King's Road,
Ebury Square and back to Oakley Street. The talk
was mostly about Scotland. C. asked Mr. Black :
* Well, sir, and when are you going to seriously set
about writing a book .? '

Mr. B. afterwards sent A Princess of Thule to
Cheyne Row.

August 4. — C, the Dr. and I walk. C. : ' Michelet
— very wise and truthful — a curious kind of historian
— puts in a good deal of strulduddery.' Bradlaugh
and Kenealy — Newman's ' Primitive Christianity '
(article in Fraser). ' I could not read it. I know
Primitive Christianity was some sort of high and holy
enthusiasm. I do not in the least believe that God
came down upon earth and was a joiner and made
chairs and hog-troughs ; or came down at any time
more than He comes down now into the soul of every
devout man. There is no use in saying anything more
in the matter. Let it rest here.'

A. — ' People are still busy with the old dogmas, and
they still interfere with life, individual and social.'

C. — ' I don't want to see Christianity falling all
away to ruin — a bit faster than it is doing.'

i875 LONDON 239

J. S. Mill on Religion — C. : * It is like the last mew
of a drowning kitten ! people speak as if " Comfort "
were the one thing ; as if Divine Providence had not
intended a man to go through many things and learn
much thereby, by labour and self-denial and mis-
fortune and even misery — John Mill wasted away his
soul.'

Tuesday^ October 5. — Back from Eastbourne — at C.'s
3.20. Carlyle and Mary back from Keston Lodge. C.
and I go out, rain, shelter in public-house, allowed
with scant civility, and then go back for his coat.

Carlyle never carried an umbrella ; in wet weather
a waterproof coat. He very seldom caught cold.

C. — ' We had a successful stay at Keston. Saw Sir
John Lubbock ; Charles Darwin several times.

' I had not seen him for twenty years. He is a
pleasant y^/Zj-minded man (I thought this a very
curious phrase), with much observation and a clear way
of expressing it. Has long been an invalid. I asked
him if he thought there was a possibility of men
turning into apes again. He laughed much at this,
and came back to it over and over again.'

C. praises Owen's paper on ' Petroleum ' in Fraser.

October 12. — C.'s. Walk with him to Piccadilly.

Goethe's Spriiche very hard to translate. * I found,
when I was translating from the German writers that
each man has a tune : Goethe has his ; Richter has
his, and, when I got into it, all went on well. That
was the pleasantest kind of work I ever did. I could
do it in any mood — like basket-making. Goethe's
style is by far the most refined and most difficult to
render.'

Carlyle's intellectual position and attitude are, from
his own point of view, rightly chosen and unassailable.
He is not a learned man in the scholastic sense, being
anything but a purist in classical matters. He neither
had, nor cared to have, more than a rough working
knowledge of Greek and Latin, but he never let any

240 LONDON 1875

quotation or reference pass, if he cared to look at it at
all, without getting at the real substance of it.

C. — ' I have often been invited to places with the
temptation of meeting Manning ; but he is perhaps of
all human creatures the one I would most decidedly
refuse to meet. If we did, it might possibly end in
actual blows, old as I am.'

November 5. — Helen went to Carlyle's to-day at 2,
to go on with his portrait. Browning came in. Lately
returned from Normandy. Had read in the news-
papers of C.'s being ill — not true : ' happy for your
sake, and still more for my own ; I have often lamented
not to have availed myself more of your company of late.'

He reminded C. how, long ago, C. used to come to
their house (at Camberwell) and ' talk Scotch ' to B.'s
mother (who was a Scotchwoman).

' You told me the Scotch name for buns — cookies'

C. said, ' I hear you have been bringing out several
new Books rather lately. I always read your Books
and find them well worth it, but I have not seen these.'

B. — * I'm afraid of you in that way ! I'd sooner
trust my body to you than my book.'

C. — ' What is the last about .'' '

B. — ' It's called Aristophanes'' Apology. I felt in a
manner bound to write it, so many blunders about
Aristophanes afloat, even among the so-called learned.'

C. praised B.'s translation from Euripides (Alcestis).

' The very best translation I ever read,' and re-
commended him to do more.

B. looked at the portrait and said, ' Very like.'

C. passed my house about 4 to-day. I overtook
him in the Fulham Road and walked with him to
Lady Ashburton's door at Knightsbridge. He said,
' Browning in his young days wore a turn-down shirt
collar with a ribbon for neck-tie, and a green coat. I
first met him one evening at Leigh Hunt's, a modest
youth, with a good strong face and a head of dark hair.
He said little, but what he said was good.'

i875 LONDON 241

November 18. — On my way to Cheyne Row saw
Carlyle and Lecky in King's Road walking along, C.
looking small beside L., who overtopped and bent over
C. in speaking and listening.

C. asked for ' Madame and the Homunculus.' ^ ' A
Baby is the most wonderful of all phenomena in this
variegated world. Some of the women told Mary it
was a most lovely creature (smiling). Babies have na
features at first — they're small red things, but gradually
you come to discern some features.'

After this we spoke of Historians. ' Ranke a diligent
man, gave much about diplomacies useful in its way, no
picture of men or things. He hangs up a kind of —
well — a gray shadow, you might say, like an Ossian
ghost, " the stars dim twinkling through." Macaulay
like a Russian Steppe — green enough, but not a rock or
tree to break the monotony.'

I. — ' Macaulay tried much to make an effect by style.*

C. (smiling). — ' Then we can only say he did not
succeed.' i

The Slav people — C: 'An ugly, dirty, ill-conditioned
set of creatures, with all the worst qualities attributed
to the Irish, and none of the good. Their language
a mere jargon, with nothing in it worth knowing.'

L. — ' You have been among them } '

C. — ' O yes, for some three weeks.'

L. (very mildly). — ' Is that long enough to judge of
a nation } '

C. — ' Oh, I did not judge them by that alone. They
are most miserable, their houses filthy and unventilated
beyond imagination — smells centuries old ! '

December i. — Carlyle and I walk in the snow and
dusk in Cromwell Road. We meet Leslie Stephen, 1
whose wife died on Sunday ; he turns and shakes hands,
but does not speak. Carlyle says ' I am very sorry
for you, sir. My own loss did not come in so 1
grievous a way.' S. departs without a word. |

1 Gerald Carlyle Allingham, born November 8, 1875.

242 LONDON 1875

Carlyle, to me : ' We feel some pity in such cases,
— but small, small, small it is. I look back often to
those times of poverty in my life, and richer they seem
than all California ! And She going through it all so
nobly and so queenly, — without any recognition almost !
Ah me ! . . . That winter I went to Mentone was
the saddest of my life. I used to go into an olive grove
and meditate most sadly on many things.'

' Browning came on my birthday and talked loud.
He agreed with me about Shelley and his poetry.*

December 27 — C. returned to Shelley again to-day,
a subject I would fain avoid with him. ' Shelley had not
the least poetic faculty. I never could read anything
he wrote. It was all a shriek merely.'

I hope it is not wrong in me to avoid battles in
such a case. C. knows perfectly well that my opinion
is not his — that Shelley is a star in my sky. As to
Browning, I have with pain heard him of later years
speak slightingly of Shelley. The longer I know B.
(great and lovable as I must always hold him) the less
do I know how much weight to give to his utterances.

Shelley's conduct to his poor Harriet is entirely
inexcusable. It was the act of a wildly impulsive,
impatient, unregulated mind, always hurried headlong
by its moods. C. was only three years and four
months younger than Shelley, and his mind was already
formed before the latter became at all known to him.

It may be noted here that Emerson once told me
he could see nothing in Shelley's poetry, beyond some
pretty verses in ' The Skylark ' and ' The Cloud.' I
tried him with ' Ozymandias ' (he was just back from
Egypt). ' That is fine,' he said, and asked leave to look
at it, but I fear was hardly likely to alter his verdict.
Emerson said on this occasion, ' If I don't know what
Poetry is, I don't know anything.'

Perhaps I had secretly a similar prejudice in favour
of somebody else's judgment !

CHAPTER XV

1876

Wednesday^ January 26. — Spring-like. Walk with
Carlyle and Froude, Hyde Park,

' School proposed for Haddington in memory of
John Knox.'

Lord Amberley's death. (To W. A. ) — ' Emerson has
quoted from you about sleep.' Game Laws — ' do animals
enjoy being hunted } I asked a man how he would
feel if he had to run for his life with twelve devils at
his heels } '

C. declared game laws bad, caused a ' waste of food-
producing power.'

Saturday^ January 29. — To C. 12.30, and stayed
three hours, examining with him Goethe's Sprilche, the
original, and an English translation by a lady.

C. said, ' She has rubbed down all the points with a
bathbrick.'

Froude comes in.

F. — *Jowett's Plato, a bald, tame, prosaic transla-
tion.'

C. — ' Plato's style is admirable, but he has nothing
particular to tell you.'

A. — ' One wonders how much is Socrates.'

C. — ' Socrates one suspects to be a myth mainly. I
could get nothing out of Plato ! What do you mean
then } — the devil a word ! '

F. — ' You would have liked to meet him ^ '

243

244 LONDON 1876

C. — 'O yes, I daresay I should have found him
highly interesting in himself.'

Wednesday^ February 16. — We walk to Hyde Park.
C. helps a blind beggar-man over a wide crossing.
We meet Leighton, old King Cole/ and the Hon. and
Rev. Byng. Sit on bench in Park, where a man speaks
to us, but none of us know anything of him.

C. has had a letter from Mr. Norton (Mass.), ' turn-
ing much on Emerson, describing him as cheerful and
hopeful ; but E. says he has lately been affected with
a disease called Old Age (smiles). His memory for
names is defective. He is not inclined to write more ;
Emerson's last book, like the rest, full of fine airy
sayings.
I * Browning's Inn Album is the worst of all he has
\ given us ; and he has been growing worse and worse —
I with the exception of his Greek translations. The Ring
I and the Book — what a thing it is ! Browning has a
* great quantity of miscellaneous reading about him, but

Ino solid basis of knowledge in anything. Tennyson's
later things are better than B.'s. But Browning js a
man of great abilities.'

Thursday., February 17. — Helen, Miss Edith Mar-
tineau and I walking along Chelsea Embankment,
meet Carlyle with Mary. I ask C.'s leave aside to
introduce Miss E. M. to him. ' The sister of theologic
Martineau ^ ' he inquires. ' Daughter ' — on which he
speaks to Edith : ' How is your Father ^ I used to go
to your house in Liverpool.' Asks after Harriet
Martineau, now about seventy-three.

E. asks if her father may come and see Carlyle.

' O yes, I shall be delighted to see him and hear
what he has to say of things.'

To Helen : ' Take care of your little son.'

Saturday., February 19. — Rev. James Martineau
called on me. Tyndall, Haeckel, and modern
materialism in general.

1 Sir Henry Cole.

1876 LONDON 245

We went together to 5 Cheyne Row and were
shown into the parlour, where, after a few minutes,
enter Carlyle. He had already two waiting to walk
with him, and we walked slowly along the Embank-
ment eastward, and nearly as far as Vauxhall Bridge,
a body of five — Carlyle, Martineau, Froude, Lecky
and W, A, — too many for hearing well what C. said.
Froude and he turned back ; M., L. and I went on
to Westminster. Spoke of Newton's Principia. M,
thought he saw faults in the logic, e.g. ' Gravitation in
proportion to Mass ' — now, mass is weight, and weight
is gravitation.

Wednesday^ February 23. — Walk with Carlyle and
Froude. I ask C. has he read Mr. Martineau on
Tyndall in the Contemporary Review ? ' No, I care
nothing about it. It is an utterly contemptible theory,
that out of dead blind dust could spring the sense of
right and wrong ! Fit only for a dog, if a dog could
speculate. Don't come to me to certify that you have
an intellect, with such notions as these in your head.'

Monday, March 6. — Walk with Carlyle and Froude,
meet Longman and Spedding. We speak of Ruskin's
Fors (' my pets,' money accounts, etc.).

St. George's Society, which C. thinks an absurdity,
and gives nothing to.

Froude says Ruskin lamented to him the way he
was brought up — not like other boys, no out-door
games, etc. ' I might have had a son of my own and
been happy.'

I alone into St. James' Park, at liberty to greet the
new spring. Cool west wind, leaves budding, almond
bushes in bloom ; pleasant (though C. would never
admit it !)

I to Water Colour Gallery and find Helen. ' Ruskin
just gone — introduced himself, thanked me for Carlyle
portrait, asked me to do another showing the stronger
aspect.'

March 10. — At Hyde Park Corner meet Browning.

246 LONDON 1876

' How odd ! made sure I had just seen you in another
part of town and differently dressed. I don't quite
believe in dopfelgangers^

Browning asks me about Byron article in Fraser^ and
praises it most warmly. ' Shouldn't mind if my name
were at iihe bottom of it. Only you did not say half a
hundredth part as much as might be said of Byron's
baseness and brutality.

' I might have rated Byron higher intellectually than
you have done, in some respects, but what you have
said of him morally is mild to what he deserves.'

He then spoke of Disraeli. ' What a humbug he
is ! Won't I give it him one of these days ! ' Royal
Academy dinner, Dizzy's speech. ' What struclc him
most was " the imagination of the British School of Art,
amid ugly streets and dull skies, etc. etc." '

Afterwards Disraeli came up to Browning and said,
' What do you think of this Exhibition } '

Browning wished to hear Disraeli's opinion. Disraeli
said — ' What strikes me is the utter and hopeless want
of imagination ' (as much as to say, you didn't think
me such a fool as I seemed in my speech !)

Browning told this to Gladstone, who said pungently,
' It's hellish ! He is like that in the House too — it's
hellish!'

' And so it is,' added Browning.

Friday^ March 24. — To Carlyle's. Lecky there

(L. up in all the newspaper and club gossip}T He

said The World gave what professed to be the substance

of Bismarck's letter to Carlyle, and all wrong from

■ beginning to end. C. said ' it was a most flattering

thing to receive such a letter, saying that I had " raised

V a living statue of their great King " — could not be a

finer compliment. Nothing to make him write such a

'• letter but his own free will ; not a word of humbug in

it that one could see.'
\ Macaulay's Life by Trevelyan on the table : C. has

I just begun it. Lecky asked him, 'You read the first

i876

LONDON

247
C.

two volumes of Macaulay's History^ I believe ? '
assented, and L." ho dtDubt chuckled internally.

I said, ' How variable a thing National Character
seems to be ; take the England of Shakespeare, of
Cromwell, of Charles 11/

C. Said, ' Shakespeare and Cromwell were brothers,
profoundly wise and sympathetic souls.'

W. A. — ' I meant Shakespeare's time. He was above
his time.'

C. (emphatically). — ' He was above everybody of
every time. No such man has been seen in the world.

We are such stuff as dreams are made of —

nothing so profound anywhere out of the Bible, or in it,
that I recollect. '' Such stuff'' — the same kind of thing.
I put The Tempest first of all (profound philosophy of
life in robes of romance).'

Lecky, — ' His last play, was it not } '

C. — ' I recollect when I first heard of Shakespeare,
when I went to school at Annan, where there was
rather more acquaintance with things in general than
in our house. I had never heard of Shakespeare there :
my Father never, I believe, read a word of him in his

life. But one day in the street of Annan I found a

wandering Italian resting a board with very bad imagery
— " images " (C. imitated the cry), and among them a
figure leaning on a pedestal with " The Cloudcapt
towers," etc. Various passers-by looked on, and a
woman read aloud the verses, very badly, and then the
name below, " Shankespeare," that was the way she gave
it, "Shankespeare" (laughing).'

I tell the joke of the sailor reading, ' The Cloud —
Captain Towers — don't know the ship.'

Carlyle laughed and said, ' I've heard that.'

When Carlyle first came to London in 1824 he
went very seldom to the theatre — saw Kean once in
Shylock^ thought he exaggerated everything, and was
like a wild beast. Had seen him in Edinburgh in the

248 LONDON 1876

same part of the Jew — Macready gave him a season
ticket for three seasons, and then he went often (he
always praises Macready).

Spoke again to-day with bitter contempt of ' Dar-
winism.' Lecture at Zion College to the Clergy against
Spontaneous Generation.

C. — ' No argument at all for it. But (he said, half
in soliloquy and with a tone of conviction) we shall get
rid at last of all forms, and that will be a blessed thing.'
Scotland greatly changed since his youth, a hundred
times as much wealth, and not a hundredth part as
much solid worth.

(L. queries and suggests dissent, but does not argue,
and rarely opposes.)

I say, the whole world of mankind is mixing — it
cannot be helped. Old local peculiarities are disappear-
ing. C. agrees.

April I . — Carlyle said, ' Just after I had got out of
my bath this morning and was drying myself — getting
into a kind of fury or exaltation of mind, I exclaimed,
" What the devil then am I, at all, at all ? after all
these eighty years I know nothing about it.'"

April 6, — Browning paid us a visit 3.15 to 4.30
about. He breakfasts every morning at 8, not later,
has luncheon at i. He tells me he has no dreams
worth remembering — no beautiful or clever dreams,
' Except that a few times I have dreamed that I was
among the mountains near Asolo (of Pippa Passes)^
and I said to myself, " I have often wished to see Asolo
a second time, but now here I am and I'll go and do it."
Once I dreamed I was seeing the elder Kean in
Richard the Thirds and he uttered a line which struck
me as immensely finer than anything else in the play,
or than I had ever heard perhaps, and I perceived it
was not Shakespeare's, but my own invention. It was
in the scene where the ghosts rise. When I woke I
still had hold of the stupendous line, and it was this —
And when I wake my dreams are madness — Damn me.

i876 LONDON 249

' I never dream but when out of sorts in healtFi.'

Browning looked at a photograph of himself on my
chimney-piece and said, ' There I am — and I don't
recollect when or where it was done, or anything
about it. I find gaps in my memory. The other day
I came by chance on an old letter of my own, telling
how I had seen Ristori in Camma — if that was the
word, and I could not and cannot recollect in the
very least what Camma is, or what I refer to : yet
there it was in my own handwriting — a judgment on
me for my opinion of my Grandfather, when I asked
him if he had seen Garrick in Richard the Third and
he replied " I suppose I have," and I thought " Bless my
soul ! shall / ever come to this." People compliment
me on my prodigious memory, because I have a knack
of remembering rhymes — " hog " and " dog," and so
forth ; but it's breaking down.'

B. took down Quarles's Emblems from the shelf,
and turned it over. ' Whose pencil marks are
these } '

' Mine,' I told him.

B. said, ' Quarles did a great deal for me — he was a
man of great gehius.' He read aloud passages here and
there — e.g.

She's empty : hark, she sounds, there's nothing there
But noise to fill thy ear, etc.

Trust not this hollow world ; she's empty ; hark, she sounds.

And with especial relish the close of the dialogue of
Eve and the Serpent —

Eve. — fruit's made for food :

I'll pull, and taste, and tempt my Adam too
To know the secrets of this dainty.

Serpent. — Do.

' That's exquisite ! ' Browning said.

We talked of music. B. goes to all the best

250 LONDON 1876

concerts and musical parties he can. Spoke of people
who know nothing at all of music. ' Last night at a
private house — Joachim playing "Beethoven" ; Mrs. P.,
sitting next me, knew and cared absolutely nothing
about it.'

1 tried to say that there are people with no ear and
also people with some, though not much, and these
latter may, having sensitive and imaginative souls, be
much moved by what does reach them ; and I instanced
Carlyle — but had no sooner uttered the name than B.,
more suo, snatched the ball out of my hands, and ran
off with it in another direction.

' Carlyle talks the most utter rubbish about Beethoven,
knows absolutely nothing about it, etc. etc' And went
on to declare, in his rapid way, that no untrained person
could know or feel anything of this high music. ' It
cannot be reached per saltum — instead of a melody in
a song or ballad, you have, in the harmonies and
transitions, countless melodies melted and flowing and
mingling,' and so on.

Browning asked for Gerald, took him in his arms and
kissed him ; looked at Carlyle's mug.^

Hardly looked at Helen's drawing — talked con-
h temptuously of Dizzy. ' Snobbishly changed his name
5 from D'Israeli to Disraeli. D. a great tyrant to every-
body. Told me he had never seen Carlyle, and I
brought him up to Boehm's Statue.'

April 18. — Carlyle called at my house to-day.
f Looking into little Gerald's face he placed his hand
lightly on the baby's head, saying solemnly, ' May God
bless thee ! ' He then placed his arm across his own
heart in a peculiar way, bowed his head and muttered
or sighed something.

September 6. — We came back from Margate on
Saturday. I called at Carlyle's on Sunday, and again

1 A silver mug given to Gerald, on which is inscribed, in facsimile of
Carlyle's hand-writing : ' Gerald Carlyle Allingham, his little Cuppie.
(T. C. 1875)'

i876 LONDON 251

on Tuesday about three, but he was gone out both
times. To-day, about half past two, he and Mary
called here ; they went into the parlour. C. looking
well and very neatly dressed — a long dark frock-coat
and a straw hat dyed black. Says he is rather better
than he was. Goes out every day about two, takes an
omnibus to the top of Regent Street, walks along Port-
land Place and back again southward, and takes a
Brompton omnibus back again. To-day he wished to
walk with me. We went through S. K. station and up
through Brompton Churchyard to Hyde Park, and by
his favourite road, that between the Ride and the
Serpentine, sitting down a while on a free bench. He
has not been at the sea this year. ' Mary found a
lodging at Littlehampton which she thought would do,
but I dreaded noise. Have suffered dreadfully from
sleeplessness lately.'

We talked of the mischievousness and cruelty of
many human beings.

' Many children are taught no kind of feeling for
others, and they come to care nothing about seeing or
doing hurt ; it amuses them. When I was in the habit
of riding about the suburbs of London, I found the
populace looked upon me as a kind of strange unfortu-
nate being, and the object they proposed to themselves
for the moment was to make me as much more uncom-
fortable as possible. One evening a crowd of idlers did
their best to make my horse jump over the parapet of a
small bridge. They didn't want me to be killed or
smashed, I suppose — didn't think about it, only wanted
some " fun." I rode through them, keeping my whip
ready — I may very likely have administered a lash or
two, I don't remember. Can you lend me some books ?
I am much at a loss for a g-ood book. I took to
Marlowe the other day, having heard much praise of
him. He's utterly absurd and intolerable. Yes, his
language is fine sometimes, but generally inflated beyond
all measure.'

252 LONDON 1876

I quoted Ancient Pistol —

And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia,
Which cannot go but thirty miles a day !

a quiz on Marlowe, and C. laughed. Faustus — scene
with the devils. * He's in terrible fear of the devils,
and yet he doesn't believe in any devils.'

W. A. — ' The Old Dramatists in general are very
disappointing.'

C. — ' Very, and Marlowe's the worst I have come
across — entirely illogical and unreasonable. In fact not
one but Shakespeare is worth anything. Well, Ben is
sensible and able — rather prosaic'

[C. said one day] — ' Ben Jonson had quite recog-
nisably an Annandale face. His Father was an
Annandale man, who spelt his name "Johnson." He
moved to Carlisle, where Ben was born.'

W. A. — ' Was his mother an Annandale woman ? '

C. — ' I know not, but very likely she was. When
Johnson died, she married a bricklayer, who brought
up young Ben to his trade.'

Octoher 6. — Carlyle has been reading As You Like
It. He said that ' After Swift (whom he had been
looking into lately) it was like a sea-bath ; Shakespeare
was a man of many tMts^ most delicate and sweet.'
Carlyle always pronounced thoughts thus. It is touch-
ing to find him, in his old age, turning so warmly
to Shakespeare the Poet, and in his most poetical
utterances.

CHAPTER XVI

1877

January 12. — With Carlyle — Christianity — age fifteen,
spoke to his mother — her horror. ' Did God Almighty
come down and make wheelbarrows in a shop ? ' She
lay awake at night for hours praying and weeping
bitterly.

' This went on about ten years. Goethe drove me
out of it, taught me that the true things in Christianity
survived and were eternally true ; pointed out to me
the real nature of life and things — not that he did this
directly ; but incidentally, and let me see it rather than
told me. This gave me peace and great satisfaction.'

In omnibus — ' I have a notion of a carriage for
myself.' I approved — * but, oh dear ! I care little. I
see nothing but the shadows of coming events and
images of the past. They come back — very strange —
most vividly, early things In my life.

' I am much disappointed In my reading In the Greek
dramatists — now reading Aristophanes, a blackguard
fellow. Disappointed with the Tragic Dramatists, too.
^schylus's Prometheus very striking. One thing struck
me, the awful sense those Athenians, too, had of this
Human Life of ours.'

W. A.—' Alfierl— like Byron .? '

C. — ' Yes, something, more sense. Racine much
the highest of the French Dramatists.'

He then spoke of ' that woman too — what call

253

254 LONDON 1877

you her ? Prunty ? Bronte ? they are writing in such
a solemn tone about, God bless me ! I remember
reading her first novel and saying " this is a woman, and
very nearly mad." 'Tis in that she gives us a wooden
figure in the shape of a man, that gesticulates and
curses by machinery.'

* Rochester ^ '

' Ay, that's it ; not an atom of flesh and blood in it.'

I told him Swinburne's verdict, * the one supreme
masculine figure,' or something like that ; which amused
him a little. I added that there was a good deal of
real experience infused into Jane Eyre — and then let it
drop. We parted at the hall door, he saying, ' I'm
glad you are near me again. Come again soon.'

Some consider Carlyle's Scottish dogmatic breeding
to have been fortunate for him, but I cannot think so,
even though he believed this himself. It was burned
and branded into his youthful conscience and imagina-
tion. It could not be made to fit in with ' facts ' —
hence, what sufferings ! what rages ! He was con-
temptuous to those who held to Christian dogmas ; he
was angry with those who gave them up ; he was furious
with those who attacked him. If equanimity be the
mark of a Philosopher, he was, of all great-minded men,

I' the least of a Philosopher.
January 27. — To Carlyle about 10 in the evening —
very friendly and sympathetic about Fraser — says he
cannot at all understand Fr.'s conduct. * It may prove
to be a good thing for you, after all. I often thought
with dissatisfaction that you were giving up your time
to this Magazine. You must write something valuable,
as you are capable of doing.' He then praised Seven
Hundred Tears Ago. * I have read nothing so good
since in any Magazine.' ^

1 After Mr. Froude's return from his official Colonial tour, the renewal
of his editorship of Eraser's Magazine was suggested, but the plan fell
through, and AUingham was asked to continue the management : this he
did until the publication of the Magazine ceased altogether, a few months
later.

1877 LONDON 255

He came down to the street door and shook hands
with me again on the door-step.

Saturday^ March 3. — To C. about 2.30. Mary
and Madame Venturi in parlour. Portrait of De
Quincy — 'untruthful man; story of girl in Opium
Eater all untrue.'

At the top of Oakley Street we pause a moment at
the crossing to let a hansom-cab go by, but the Driver
on his part politely pulls up to give us time, saying, ' All
right, Mr. Carlyle ! ' C. and I get inside an omnibus.
Passing the Chinese Embassy we saw a servant in yellow
silk, and C. was reminded of the Learned Man in The
Two Fair Cousins, a Chinese novel which he always had
pleasure in recalling. He began telling the story, and
spoke as usual of the Author ' as a Man of Genius of the
dragon pattern.' He asked, ' Do you know the root of
the word ten } I made a guess at it when I was wash-
ing my feet the other morning. Zehen is " toes " in
German, and Zehn " ten " = " toe-en," as it were. I
took up the Arabic numerals one day, and made out
the meaning of the signs,'

I told him of my guess of the forms of many letters
of the alphabet coming from the shapes of the mouth
in saying them ; which was new to him and not without
interest.

April II. — C. very sympathetic about H.'s serious
illness.^ Millais is to paint him.

April 13. — Carlyle and Mary call : sorry about H.

Wednesday, May 16. — C. and I in Brompton and
Islington omnibus ; rain begins, and turns to a heavy
pour : so not alighting at Oxford Circus we go on and
on, to the Angel at last, and the omnibus stables,
whence, after a wait in the yard, we return S.W. with
fresh horses. C. shows me the street, next St. James's,
Pentonville, where he had his first London lodging.
Edward Irving lived in Myddelton Square.

* After the birth of her daughter, Eva Margaret, on February 21st of
this year, Mrs. Allingham was ill for several months.

256 LONDON 1877

Turkey — ' Dizzy wants a war, to show himself like
a second Chatham. He's a very bad man.'

Thursday, May 24. — Modern Atheism — CHfford, etc.
C. said, * I know nothing whatever of God except what
I find within myself — a feeling of the eternal difference
between right and wrong.'

June 24. — Carlyle is going through Gibbon's Decline
and Fall (not read since his youth). ' I find it entirely
below my expectations, the style is laboriously anti-
thetical— and he doesn't lay out his history well ; there
are many chapters where a mere tabular statement
ought to have sufficed. I should have liked him also
to hang out more frequent general elucidations in the
way of dates. On the whole, it is very disappointing.'

I reminded C. that Gibbon was one of the -writers
whom he strongly recommended to me, many years ago,
saying, ' Gibbon is always worth meeting.' He replied,
' Oh, one must read Gibbon to get any insight into this
wild history of mankind.'

The New Republic rather amused him, but he ' could
not believe the writer meant a single word he said.'

October. — To C.'s about 3.30. Mrs. Lecky there. To
Queen Anne St. and call on Erasmus Darwin. Talk of
Mr. Martin's Biography. Carlyle wrote to Athenaeum :
' Mr. Frederick Martin has no authority to concern
himself with my life — of which he knows nothing.'
He remarked that many old things came back clearly
which he had not thought of for a great many years.

I asked how far back his memory went. He told
of something that happened when he was less than two
years old. ' An uncle of mine sent me the gift of a
small wooden can — they called it a noggie — to eat my
porridge from. The can had two bottoms and some
small pebbles between that rattled, — but this was a pro-
found secret to me at the time, the source of the rattling.
One day finding myself alone in the kitchen with my
noggie, I conceived the scheme of making some porridge
for myself, and for the first stage I poured water into

1877 LONDON 257

my noggie and set this on the kitchen fire to boil.
After a little, however, it all suddenly blazed up, and
out I rushed shrieking with terror — I was under two, I
don't know how much. It must have been some
months later, probably in 1798, that we moved from
one house to another. A pathway and short-cut led
between the two, across a field known to the satirical
villagers as Pepper Field, because the owner was said
to have made his fortune in the West Indies. I was
allowed to suppose myself helping in the flitting, and I
recollect very well carrying the stoup or nozzle of a
watering pot across Pepper Field and blowing through
it like a horn, feeling at the same time a great exulta-
tion— some kind of false joy, I suppose, for I don't
think I was very happy at the time.'

Going out we found it was a quarter to six. ' Bless
me ! ' said C, ' what an old fool I have been to sit there
talking useless stuff when I ought to be at home,' and
we hurried to the omnibus as fast as age allowed. He
usually takes half an hour's sleep before dinner, and is
very methodical in all his ways.

C. to-day praised highly ' Modern Prophets ' in
Eraser^ said it would be a satisfaction to many minds.
' You have left these Prophets " sitting on their seats of
honour," but you have been more good-natured to
them than I could have been — though there is plenty
of satirical pungency too.'

He asks leave to send the article to his brother, and
I tell him he is welcome to the copy.

Saturday, October 27. — To C. about 4. C. and I
to King's Road. Chelsea omnibus to Charing Cross.
We walk down the Embankment as far as Somerset
House, ' one of the most dignified buildings in London.'

Browning's Agamemnon. ' Oh yes, he called down
some months ago to ask if he might dedicate it to me.
I told him I should feel highly honoured. But — O
bless me ! Can you understand it, at all} I went carefully
into some parts of it and for my soul's salvation

258 LONDON 1877

(laughs) couldn't make out the meaning. If any one
tells me this is because the thing is so remote from us —
I say things far remoter from our minds and experiences
have been well translated into English. The book of
Job, for instance. It's bad Hebrew, I understand, the
original of it, and a very strange thing to us. But the
translator said to himself, " the first thing I have to do
is to make this as intelligible as possible to the English
reader ; if I do not this I shall be — h'm — I shall be —
in fact damnedy But he succeeded most admirably,
and there are very few books so well worth reading as
our Book of Job.

' Yes, Browning says I ordered him to do this transla-
tion— he winds up his preface (highly to his own
satisfaction, in a neat epigrammatic manner) by saying
so, — summing it all up in a last word ; and I did often
enough tell him he might do a most excellent book,
by far the best he had ever done, by translating the
Greek Dramatists — but O dear ! he's a very foolish
fellow. He picks you out the English for the Greek
word by word, and now and again sticks two or three
words together with hyphens ; then again he snips up
the sense and jingles it into rhyme ! I could have
told him he could do no good whatever under such
conditions.'

C. spoke of Swinburne — ' there is not the least
intellectual value in anything he writes.'

We spoke of the convicts Baxter and Swindlehurst,
and agreed that many business people of high repute
(even including some publishers) deserved no better a
fate.

November. — Carlyle, Lecky and I take omnibus to
Oxford Street, then walk up Portland Place.

The Brougham — ' Oh, I shall give that up — I find
instead of it being mine, I should be its. I cannot go
whither I would — the man cannot find out the places.
Mary, I believe, has some other plot : I must keep my
eye on her ! '

,877 LONDON 259

Sunday, November 25. — Ask Tollman at new bridge,

* Seen Mr. Carlyle ? '

' Yes, gone round other bridge, with two gentlemen.'
I over and meet them in Battersea Park. Carlyle, Sir
James Stephen, and a quick-eyed, good-looking, semi-
American old young man who talks very fluently and
well on China and Japan. * The Japanese are trying
the languages and systems of England, France,
Germany, Holland.' Describes the suicide, by order
of the Tycoon, of a noble who fired on some foreigners :
temple, by night — dirk or knife wrapt in silver paper
on small table of white wood. Speech — bows — throws
off upper garment — cuts his belly across — head cut off
by friend.

It is Mr. Mitford {Tales of Old Japan), now in the
Woods and Forests Department.

November 29. — ^Carlyle is very weary and depressed
— 'unwilling to live longer — but must be patient.
Mary is planning a horse and carriage. Omnibus has
advantages and is decidedly economical — but a carriage
might help me. But nothing can give me any
satisfaction at this date I have arrived at,' he adds.

* But I am better off than many a one. I am free of
an irritability of nerves that tortured me a year ago.
Things hurt me and rankled in me, I know not at all
why. The recollection, for instance, of some man I
knew forty years ago perhaps — often some one I had
but the slightest acquaintance with, or only knew by
eye — would suddenly, without any reason at all, come
into my mind, and prick into me in the most painful
manner. That is all over now.'

December. — H. and I dined at Surgeon Clover's ;
Mr. and Mrs. Stebbing, Mr, and Mrs. Townsend
(^Spectator). Clover was at Chislehurst during last
illness of the ' Emperor.' ' Empress very easy and
pleasant, and seemed so well pleased with anything I
^aid that I never felt more at ease in my life.

' Emperor said, " Now, you'll do what you think fit

26o LONDON 1877

(about the chloroform), I know nothing about it."
Once, after waking up from sleep, he sighed and said,
" I thought I was at Sedan."

' He forgot much of his English, not an unusual
thing in illness. His brain was very large : it was
weighed after his death and found to approach Cuvier's
in weight.' I told Clover what I heard Owen say of
him : Prince Louis Napoleon visited the Museum of
the College of Surgeons while Owen was Curator,
Owen observed him narrowly — ' And I came to the
conclusion, from his whole appearance, and especially
his i^ony conformation^ that he was certainly not of the
Napoleon family,'

December 5. — C.'s about 3.20 — dressing. Enter
Mary : ' Flowers for Birthday yesterday, and letters,

' Mme. Venturi came at \ past 1 1 at night — couldn't
let her up ; we actually quarrelled, for the first time.'

Carlyle and I in the Chelsea omnibus to Charing
Cross : ' This is the second day of my eighty-third
year — no doubt of that ! Browning came down yester-
day, he has a great deal to say about many things. I
must go and see him, I told him frankly about the
Agamemnon^ after praising his fidelity, that I could make
nothing of his translation — could not understand it —
, had to turn to the Jesuit's book, R. B. admitted that
all said it was of no use.'

(I spoke of Athenaeum and Academy^ which praised

C. — ' I still exhorted him to give us, as the best

\ possible thing, a Greek Theatre, done like that from

Euripides in Balaustion. He said the Agamemnon text

.; is exceedingly corrupt (only one MS. known in the

f world), much mauled by commentators.'

We walk to Bedford Street — Civil Service Stores.
Can't at first find the clothing department. Carlyle has
a coat tried on (after careful inquiries as to whether
this is the coat ordered at such a time — and ' is this the
man that took my measure.'' etc, etc.'). Walk back

i877 LONDON 261

to Charing Cross. He speaks oi" Johnson's house in
Gough Square, praises once more the English Dictionary.
Asks me what number of Fraser ' Modern Prophets '
is in ? a blind old gentleman in Scotland wishes to
have it read to him.

C. asks me about MacMahon, and says, ' In a
century or less all Europe will be republican — demo-
cratic ; nothing can stop that. And they are finding
out their old religions, too, to be mere putrid heaps of
lies.'

Friday^ December 21. — To Carlyle's. Louis
Napoleon — ' Met him at dinner — he made up to me
rather, understanding me to be a writer, who might
perhaps be of help to him somehow. His talk was a
puddle of revolutionary nonsense. He was internally
a mass of darkness. I used to meet him often in the
street, mostly about Sloane Square, driving a cab, with
a little tiger behind ; his face had a melancholy look
that was rather affecting at first, but I soon recognised
that it was the sadness of an Opera Singer who cannot
get an engagement. When I heard of him afterwards
as Emperor, I said to myself, " Gad, sir, you've got an
opera engagement such as no one could possibly have
expected ! " '

[One day the following talk took place.]

Carlyle, Lecky and I.

C. praised Sir Robert Peel, ' the only tolerably good
minister I have known.' Catholic Emancipation :
' Peel resisted that a long time,' L. said.

C. — ' He could not venture sooner. You have no
notion what a feeling there was against it. In our
country, at least in the southern part, I knew of only
one other person besides myself who was in favour of it.'

L. — ' Lord Melbourne said, " All the wise men in
the kingdom were of one opinion on this, and all the

d d fools of the other ; and it turned out that all

the d d fools were right ! " '

C. — ' Ouite true.'

CHAPTER XVII

1878-1879

Thursday^ January 10. — Fine but cold. To C. about
2.30, and drive with him in brougham, Lecky with us,
by Clapham, etc. He insists that Wandsworth is
' Wodensworth ' ; I bring up the River Wandle, and
he makes out Wandle to be ' Woden's Dale.' He
then speaks of Ireland and Cromwell, we (especially L.)
silently dissenting. We drive in Richmond Park, see
deer ; get out and walk a little. Pass near Owen's
cottage and see a man like O., but who turns out not
to be any such man.

C. speaks with his usual contempt of Parliament,
but allows that it gives a safety-valve.

; January 23. — Carlyle and I drive in brougham to
Richmond Park : ' People set about writing History in
an entirely wrong manner. They ought to try and see

I the people and events, and set them forth in due order

^ and all possible clearness.'

On health C. said, ' I have had stomachic disturbance
ever since I was twenty ; otherwise quite healthy. It is
very curious, the head is still the same, only the
interest in things is nearly gone. I long ago felt that
the greatest comfort was to be able to say, " This will
not last for ever." Death is welcome whenever it comes.
One thing is firmly held to — God, who arranges and
decides all : this I am thankful to say I keep. And
whoever uses honestly the light placed in his own mind,

262

i878 LONDON 263

acts as the voice of God telJs him, will find satisfaction
therein, and not otherwise.'

Saturday^ February 20. — To C. We drive to Queen
Anne St. and visit Erasmus Darwin in his warm
house (which he does not leave at this season). Talk
of Lecky's book ; of Turkey, etc. C. says, ' Dizzy was
on the point, months ago, of sending a fleet to Con-
stantinople. I wrote a letter in the newspaper — it was
no merit in me ; the information was given me from
unquestionable authority, and his scheme was blown up as
by a torpedo ! He thought of bringing me before the
House of Commons to be questioned as to my authority ;
but I was very easy about this, as I understood from a
competent adviser that I had nothing to do but say, " I
will not tell you." '

Saturday^ March 2. — Carlyle, Dr. Carlyle and I to
King's Road and have our hair cut. I keep a lock of
C.'s, which has still some brown in it. He says, ' Curious 1
— that head (the Doctor's) is five or six years younger
than mine, the hair much whiter — softer too.'

We go in omnibus to Charing Cross.

C. — ' Dizzy will not be allowed by the country to go
to war. People show the most complete ignorance of
Russia — talk like so many raging jackasses.'

We spoke of Lionel Tennyson's wedding ; going to
Spain for the honeyrhoon.

Monday^ March 1 1. — To Cheyne Row 2.30. Drive
to Dover St. C. speaks with admiration of Ruskin.
' A celestial brightness in him. His description of the
wings of birds the most beautiful thing of the kind that
can possibly be. His morality, too, is the highest and
purest. And with all this a wonderful folly at times !
The St. George's Company is utterly absurd. I thought
it a joke at first.'

March 29. — To C. at 2.30 ; with him and Mrs.
Lecky in brougham to Browning's, 19 Warwick
Crescent. B. (in rough gray dress) received C. with
great emphasis.

264 LONDON 1878

' How good and dear of you to come ! dear Mr.
Carlyle ! How dear ! ' and took him upstairs on his
[ arm.

^ Pen's large picture in drawing-room, ' The Worker

in Brass, Antwerp,' intended for Royal Academy.
Old man with hammer and punch finishing a metal dish
with rim of dolphins — medallion of Rubens on the floor
— pipe on stool — watch hanging on wall.

C, placed in an arm-chair, looked at the picture
without speaking ; B. went on describing it, from time
to time. At last C. said, looking at B., ' Antwerpen —
on the wharf — that is the meaning of the name. It
used to be said there was hand in it, but that is not so.
On the wharf \s the meaning.'

C. asked questions about Pen ; asked me, is the
medallion like Rubens ? but said nothing of the Picture.

C. asked B. the name of his new poem, but B.
evaded. * I'll let it speak for itself.' We departed ;
B. giving his arm to C. downstairs and out to the
carriage.

C. spoke of Darwinism. ' I don't care three ha'pence
for the Darwinian Theory.' By and by he said, ' It
is impossible to believe otherwise than that this world
is the work of an Intelligent Mind, The Power which
has formed us — He (or It — if that appears to any one
more suitable) has known how to put into the human
soul an ineradicable love of justice and truth. The
best bit for me in Kant is that saying of his, " Two
things strike me dumb with astonishment — the Starry
Heavens and the Sense of Right and Wrong in the
Human Soul."

' These physical gentlemen ought to be struck
dumb if they properly consider the nature of the
Universe.'

Mrs. Lecky suggested that investigation as well as
reverence was natural to man, and would not Mr.
Carlyle permit inquiry "? 'Oh yes,' he said (half jestingly),
' man is full of curiosity — but I would order these

1878 SHERE 265

people to say as little as possible. Friedrich Wilhelm's
plan would be the right one with them, " Hold your
tongue or else — " '

Carlyle has taken again to reading Goethe.

Saturday, March 30. — Helen and I to an evening
party at Tennyson's at 14 Eaton Square. Arrive 9.30.
Mrs, Tennyson on sofa. Mrs. Thackeray Ritchie and
husband, Browning, Gladstone and Mrs. Gladstone,
Paget, Duke of Argyll and daughter, Messrs. Matthew
Arnold, Lewis Morris, E. Gurney, F. Pollock.
Joachim plays ; T. and myself at end of piano.

He asks, ' Have you any politics .'' ' Says, ' I can't
agree with you about Russia — you're a damned Irish-
man ! I've hated Russia ever since I was born, and
I'll hate her till I die ! '

W. A. — ' What do you think of Dizzy .? '

T. — ' I hate Dizzy, and I love Gladstone ; still, I
want Russia snubbed.'

Spedding joined the conversation, and was also
against Russia as Russia. (Carlyle always supports
Russia as Russia.)

F. Locker, Aide, Mrs. Huxley (asks us for Sunday
week), Huxley girls.

May 2. — We all go to Shere, H. and I, Sonny and
Sissy. Cottage delightful — woods — bluebells.

[The AUinghams stayed all the summer in Mr.
Bray's pretty old cottage — AUingham, as usual, busy
with his own work, besides Fraser ; his wife painting
' every day most assiduously.' There were pleasant
m.eetings with friends, too — Mr. Vernon Lushington,
Mrs. and Miss Procter (Mrs. P. ' loved the country —
for a few days ' !), Mr. and Mrs. Richmond Ritchie,
Mrs. Coleman Angell and her husband. But there are
no notes of talks at this time.

Allingham ' visited old John Linnell at his house
near Red Hill — eighty-six in June — deaf — hand steady':
also went to see George Eliot, at the Heights, Witley.]

October 24. — Chelsea. Returned after six months

266 LONDON 187S

in the country (Shere and Dover). Mary Aitken came
in the evening. Her uncle is v^ell.

October 26. — To Carlyle's to-day about three, and
find him looking well. Mr. Paul Friedmann.

C, F., and 1 drive to Regent's Park, where I get
out. We talk of Shere Ali ; of Dizzy ; ' England is
disgraced ; never before has she had such a man at
her head.'

Heligoland agitating to join Germany, Carlyle
asks, ' was there an old religious establishment there 1 '

Friedmann explains, ' Not HeiRgo but i7(?//goland,
which in old German means a rocky and sandy island.
The people,' he added, ' were pirates and wreckers and
would fain be so still. They will probably repent of
joining Germany. England may some day give the
island to Germany as quid pro quo."*

Monday, October 28. — Go down to C.'s at 5 p.m.
on business (M.'s American Railway Shares). C. (re-
turned from his drive) comes into the drawing-room
in his dressing-gown and sits down on the floor by
the fireside, his back to the wall, his face guarded from
the heat by a small screen hanging from the chimney-
piece. Rose, a sturdy young serving-wench of rather
rough manners, puts on his cap (which is shown in some
of H.'s drawings), hands him his pipe, ready filled,
and a spill — then a second spill, to provide against
failure of the first. He lights his pipe and smokes.

' Mrs. Oliphant's book gives no picture of Irving,
except in the letters to his wife — Irving was, on the
whole, the finest fellow I have ever come across ' (and
yet, one must again reflect, what a fiitility was his life !)

Wednesday, October 30. — 10 p.m. Carlyle and Mary
call at our house and come upstairs — talk about Albury,
' Henry Drummond ; he invited me to Albury for a
certain Saturday. I went, but D. was not there. The
servant evidently took me to have felonious intentions ;
but discovered by degrees I was not for stealing anything.'

C. tastes Helen's cup of milk. I show him engraved

i878 LONDON 267

portrait of old Mr. William Bray/ in his ninety-seventh
year, and tell him of my visit to old John Linnell
(himself approaching ninety now), the painter and
engraver of it, and how I saw a portrait of Carlyle in
the studio, done some fifty years ago. C. remembers
sitting for it.

' Entire failure as a likeness : was done for a Mr.
Cunningham, who would not have anything to do with
it when finished.'

Carlyle, coming away one day from a friend's house
where they had had a good luncheon, patted his niece
on the shoulder saying, ' Well Mary, we've had a
pleasant visit — but we're both rather drunk ! ' Mary
declared she had only taken water.

Wednesday^ November 6. — H. went again to-day
about 12.30 to C.'s, and brought back two life-like
sketches in colour. He was mild and genial to-day,
and bade her come again.

C. said to me, ' Your wife is the only person who
has made a successful portrait of me, though many
have tried.'

November 14. — To Carlyle's at 2.30, and found
him stepping — slowly climbing — into the usual hired
carriage. He said, ' I feel I may die any time.'

I asked, ' Did you ever in early life think yourself
near death } '

' Never,' he answered ; and then went on to tell
me of his Uncle Tom, the youngest of the brothers
— of a fine Roman character ; ' I looked up to him
with the greatest admiration and respect. He was ill,
and my mother used to sit up with him at night. (He
seems to have lived either in the same house or an
adjoining one.) One night I took the watch upon me,
to relieve her — I was about nineteen years of age —
and in the middle of the night it became clear that my
uncle was dying. He fixed his eyes upon me with a

1 Given to Allingham by Mr. Bray of Shcre ; now in Mrs Allingham's
possession.

268 LONDON 1878

wild stare — bright blue eyes — and tried to lift his head
from the pillow, but could not do it, and the eyes kept
wide open till life went out of them — ah dear ! — it was
about three in the morning. It was then I first began
to make reflections upon death. He had no disease —
a general break-up, mostly from hard work.'

' Had you any kind of orthodox belief in your mind
at that time ? '

' No, I had given all that up some time before, but
I said nothing about it one way or another. I had
asked my mother one day how it was known that
Solomon's Song was symbolical, representing Christ and
the Church, and she showed such boundless horror at
my question that I resolved on silence thenceforth.'

C. spoke of the folly of Tyndall and others who
went on about the origin of things ; ' I long ago
perceived that no man could know anything about that ;
but that the Universe could come together by chance
was, and is, altogether incredible. The evidence to me
of God — and the only evidence — is the feeling I have
deep down in the very bottom of my heart of right and
truth and justice. I believe that all things are governed
by Eternal Goodness and Wisdom, and not otherwise ;
but we cannot see and never shall see how it is all
managed.'

December 3. — To Carlyle's. Found Browning in
the drawing-room, talking earnestly to him — 'and
here's AUingham '—talk. Lord Beaconsfield. Browning
— ' I met him at dinner last spring, and he was got up
to look as much like a young man as he could.'

I. — ' Had you any talk with him ? '

B. — ' Oh yes ; he came up and said, " I daresay
you don't recollect me " ; I assured him I did.

' Then he said, " Oh yes, I remember you did me the
honour to introduce yourself to me at the Academy
dinner."

' I said, " I beg your pardon, it was you who did me
that honour." '

1878 LONDON 269

Decejnber 4. — Carlyle's birthday. Helen and I
went down about 2.30., and met the carriage, which pulled
up and allowed us to shake hands. Mary, Mrs. Lecky
and Mr. Graham were with him. He does not like
more than just a greeting on his birthday.

December 5. — Carlyle, Mary and I in carriage — drove
along the Embankment and stopped to see Cleopatra's
Needle. C. put his head out of window and took one
look, then leaned back, 'Ah yes — old Egyptian hands
made that a long time ago.'

We drove to Tower Hill.

I asked him a question to-day I had often wished to
ask : ' Do your thoughts ever turn to another life .'* '
He answered : ' Oh, every day and every hour.' Then
he went on to say, in slow semi-soliloquy, ' We know
nothing. All is, and must be, utterly incomprehensible.
Annihilation would be preferable to me to this state I
am in. But I hold with Goethe ' (and he repeated the
verses in his own translation) —

/The Future hides in it
Gladness and sorrow ;
We press still thorow.
Nought that abides in it
Daunting us, — onward.

And solemn before us,
Veiled, the dark Portal,
Goal of all mortal : —
Stars silent rest o'er us,
Graves under us silent !

'That is very fine,' he said, giving these two lines
again —

Stars silent rest o'er us,
Graves under us silent !

Then went on-

While earnest thou gazest,
Comes boding of terror,
Come phantasm and error.
Perplexes the bravest
With doubt and misgiving.

270 LONDON 1878

But heard are the Voices, —
Heard are the Sages,
The Worlds and the Ages :
' Choose well ; your choice is
Brief and yet endless.

Here eyes do regard you,

In Eternity's stillness ;

Here is all fulness, /

Ye brave, to reward you ;

Work, and despair not.'

The last seven lines he gave with special distinctness.
Meanwhile we were driving slowly, with frequent stops,
through the dingy crowded Minories and Leadenhall
Street.

By and by he said, ' A thought that bewilders me
sometimes is the prodigious number of human beings
who have come and gone.'

W. A. — ' Against this we can set the immeasurable
Space around us and its innumerable Worlds.'

C. — ' I care very little about the stars. I look
round upon my fellow-creatures.'

W. A. — ' But the multitude of mighty Globes is a
physical fact, as much as any other.'

C. — ' Yes ' (letting the subject drop).

Again he resumed. ' One thing Browning told me
the other day was a saying of Huxley's, " In the
beginning was hydrogen." Any man who spoke thus in
my presence I would request to be silent — " No more of
that stuff, sir, to me ! (angrily). If you persevere I
will take means, such as are in my power, to get quit of
you without delay." '

To Carlyle's. Mr. Paul Friedmann. We three
drove out. Talk on Prussian affairs, and especially
Bismarck, whom F. thinks a despot. I was surprised
at C.'s not coming forward to defend the Chancellor,
but he seems to have got fresh lights on B.'s character
lately. He remarked, ' I hear he is a terrible fellow at
eating and drinking.' F. confirmed this, adding ' he
says himself he never gets drunk, but his friends do not

1878 LONDON 271

say so.' The book of conversations with B.'s secretary,
just pubhshed, was mentioned. I asked, ' was it
authentic ^ ' ' Oh yes, it could not have been published
without B.'s full consent. His object is to keep himself
before the public'

We then spoke of Morganatic marriages, on which F.
gave copious and apparently accurate information. He
said the ceremony is in no way peculiar, (he never heard
of the left hand being used) nor the status of the wife : the
only difference being in the succession of the children.

C. and F. entirely agreed with me as to the absurdity
of writing histories of centuries, or of treating those
artificial sections as real. The practice is very modern.
Histories of reigns, of great wars, or of famous person-
ages, were the usual forms of writing.

C. often declared that the driver was going wrong —
at last thrust his head suddenly out of the window, and
roared ' Where in the Devil's Grandmother's name are
you going ? '

Carlyle has allowed Helen to sketch him as he reads
in his drawing-room from 12 to 2.30, and she has had
six sittings up to December 9. Helen writes —

' The first morning I went at Mary's invitation ;
after shaking hands with me C. left the room ; when he
returned I had arranged my things on the sofa, and M.
then called his attention to " our special artist." He
said " What ? " and added, when he understood, " I'll
have nothing to do with any sketching."

' At last M. persuaded him to let me stay, and he
sat down before the fire to read a translation of a
Russian poem (lent by Madame de Novikoff^ ; he called
the poet a " blathering blellum."

' He often expressed a weariness of life, and wished
to be out of it ; and one day taking leave said, " Well,
ma'am, I wish you all prosperity, and that you may not
live to be seventy-two " (meaning eighty-two).

* One day he said, " As far as I can make out, the
best portrait-painter who ever lived was one Cooper, in

272

LONDON

1878

Cromwell's time. When painting Cromwell, Cromwell
told llim to put in the wart, and he did. I have spent
much time in studying Cromwell's physiognomy." '

' Every day he asked after " AUingham and the
bairns." '

Sunday^ December 29, — Carlyle and I in omnibus.
Rain, so we did not alight at Charing Cross, and
I suggested our going into St. Paul's — to which, to
my surprise, he agreed. He h^"n6t been there for
many years. We ascended the west steps and went in
by right-hand door. C. immediately pulled off his
broad hat and we soon, arm-in-arm, turned into centre
aisle. The Cathedral was lighted up and a sermon
going on under the Dome.

C. said, ' Ah, this is a fine place ! '

I found seats on the edge of the seated congregation,
where we had a good view up into the dim dome and
along the vista of the choir. We could hear the
preacher's voice but not the words. I tried to keep
him till the end and the organ music.

' There is no doubt a very fine organ,' he said, ' and
the Amen comes like nothing else in the world.' But
by and by he became impatient : ' We can hear nothing —
let us go.' So we glided out of our places, and went
to look at the Wellington Monument, but he declared
he could make out nothing of it.

He was full of praises of Wren and his work — ' the
grandest Cathedral he had ever seen,' — and spoke of his
first day in London.

He arrived by water from Leith, and went up to
Islington to Edward Irving whose guest he was. In
the evening he found himself in view of St. Paul's, and
has never forgotten the sight of it rising above the
crowd of little houses.

We walked up and down St. Paul's Churchyard, and
looked up at the dome—' Ay, it's a bonny thing.'

' Wren — a grand man — I lived for many years beside
this Hospital of his before I took much notice of it.

,878 LONDON 273

and then I began to perceive that it was a building of
most thorough adaptation for its purpose — well con-
trived, well built in every particular.'

I remarked and C. agreed it was odd there should
be no street in all London called after the great
Architect.

When we parted he said, ' You have brought me
along in a most beautiful manner to-day — many thanks.'

1879

In the cold weather of the early part of the year I
saw Carlyle seldom. But in the end of January and in
February I had three or four drives with him.

Our visit to St. Paul's pleased him so well that he
went there on the five or six Sunday afternoons follow-
ing with Mary, and was much impressed by the organ.

One Saturday we drove in Richmond Park, C, Mr.
Friedmann and L

F. spoke of Kant, and that the Germans were re-
turning to him, which I was very glad to hear, C.
said [as often before], ' Kant's notions of time and space
struck me very much : I have felt greatly oppressed in
thinking of the long duration of Time Past, and Kant
offered a relief in the suggestion that Time may be
something altogether different from what we imagine,
I have no kind of definite belief or expectation what-
ever as to the Future — only that all will be managed
with wisdom, the very flower of wisdom,'

Another day, he and I drove through Clerkenwell
by a half-finished new street, and turned up to King's
Cross : I reminded him of Swedenborg as we passed
the corner of the jail, on which by the by is inscribed
' Mount Pleasant.'

He said, ' Ah yes, Swedenborg was fond of London.
I never got much good of him. Emerson says he
came nearer the secret of the world than almost any-
body, but I never could see that he came near any

274 LONDON 1879

secret at all. Still, I have a respect for him : I read
his books with considerable interest.'

A long time ago, speaking to me of Swedenborg,
C. said, ' he upset his platter ' : this is probably a pro-
verbial expression.

February 22. — Drove with Carlyle. — Darwin and
Haeckel. C. : ' For Darwin personally I have great
respect ; but ail that of " Origin of Species," etc., is of
little interest to me. What we desire to know is, who
is the Maker ? and what is to come to us when we have
shuffled off this mortal coil. Whoever looks into him-
self must be aware that at the centre of things is a
mysterious Demiurgus — who is God, and who cannot
in the least be adequately spoken of in any human words.'

March. — I asked C. if he was going to St. Paul's
to-morrow. — ' I think not, after what I got at West-
minster Abbey last Sunday ! ' ,.^— .^- --™».«^-

W. A. — ' How did you like the preacher } *
C. — ' Like him (glaring). I felt a very strong
appetite to lay my stick about his head ! I did not
say this aloud, but I thought it emphatically.'

* What was the sermon about .'' '

* Oh, something about adversity and affliction, and
what fine things they are. I should say he would be
highly unwilling to undergo the slightest affliction he
could escape.' Then, raising his voice, * Oh, it's per-
fectly horrible — what was once a religious worship !
He would have been greatly surprised if he could have
looked into me and have seen the strokes that were
prepared for him, and the kicks on his seat of honour.'

We then spoke of Dean Stanley, and C. repeated
his old saying about him that * he skated on the
thinnest ice of any theologian he had ever heard of.'
He added, ' but you can see when you look at his
face that he has no misgivings about the part he is
playing : he holds there are fine things underlying all
this.'

Drove with Carlyle. C. and I spoke of Hamlet.

,879 LONDON 275

C. said he was much struck on reading Hamlet again.
He made light of the difficulty about ^ no traveller
returns.' — * Oh, Shakespeare found it wonld not do to
bring in the ghost when he was discussing these grave
matters : Hamlet did not really believe in the ghost.'
I told him of the curious point as to the description
of the plot of the strolling actors' play beforehand by
one of the players : that it had been discovered that
this was customary in Denmark in old times, though
no instance of it is known in England.

About this time Carlyle's health suddenly worsened :
beginning it was thought from a chill, and the action of
his heart. He became alarmingly weak. He ceased
for a time to drive out : was very languid and slept
much : he sometimes looked very sunken and low.

One day I went down and creeping into the
drawing-room found him asleep on the sofa : — creeping
back again I met Ruskin coming up the stairs, by
appointment. Mary said it was time to awaken him
and did so. They greeted each other affectionately,
and Ruskin knelt on the floor, leaning over Carlyle as
they talked. Carlyle began to speak of Irish saints,
and referred to me for some account of Saint Bridget
and her shrine at Kildare, to which I added that Bride-
Well, that is St. Bride's well, had come to mean a prison.

This seemed to interest Ruskin particularly, and he I
remarked, ' We make prisons of the holiest and most
beautiful things ! '

He then took leave, very affectionately kissing
Carlyle's hands ; and he and I walked together to my j
house where he greeted Helen with much empresse- i
ment^ and sat for about half an hour looking at her
drawings. He examined them through a pocket-micro-
scope : ' I am glad to see you paint sunshine : I am
always wanting Walter [Severn] to do so : he can paint
rainbows, but he prefers to paint gray days.' A lady
present remarked, ' There are so many gray days.'

Ruskin. — ' The Devil sends them.'

276 LONDON 1879

The lady thought they had a charm ; but Ruskin
insisted that they always came from diabolical influence.
Sunday, May 4. — To Cheyne Row about 2.15. C.
complained, in her presence, of Mary's having ordered
the carriage to come to-day : he wanted to go in the
omnibus. I proposed to take him ; and, the carriage
not appearing in time, we walked slowly to Oakley
Street and got into his favourite vehicle — his first trip
of the kind these many weeks. The conductor showed
special attention, and C. got his favourite seat, namely,
next the door on the left-hand side — that on which the
conductor's perch is. At Temple Bar we got out, and
he consented to come into the Middle Temple, where
he said he had never been before in his life. We
entered, after a shght demur of the janitor (it being
Sunday), by the gate and lane leading to the porch of
the Temple Church. ' Close by,' I said, ' is Goldsmith's
grave.' 'Where is it .'' ' said C, and crept slowly on
my arm till we stood beside the simple but sufficient
monument, a stone about coffin length, and eighteen
inches high, I read aloud the inscriptions ; C. took
; off his broad-flapped black hat saying, ' A salute.' I
1: followed his example, and thus we stood for a few
seconds. When our hats were on and we were turning
away, C. laughed and said, ' Strange times, Mr. Rigma-
role ! ' Then, * Poor Oliver ! — he said on his deathbed,
" I am not at ease in my mind." '

We now heard the organ rolling in the Church, and
C. said, ' Can't we go in and sit down there ^. ' We
went to the porch, the great door yielded and showed
us, better than I hoped, plenty of seats just inside.
I We sat down in the middle of the round part. I
' showed C. the recumbent figures of Templars, and he
said, with rather alarming audibility, ' Aye, they were
so poor that two of them rode on one horse, and they
were the richest and powerfullest of orders in their
day.' Then the organ and chanting began and filled
us both with responsive waves of feeling.

i879 LONDON 277

Carlyle said one day, ' Black's Oliver Goldsmith is
v/orth nothing at all, he gives no credible Goldsmith.'

Friedmann. — ' The Vicar of Wakefield is given to
young Germans for their first book in English.'

C. — ' I read the Vicar again lately, and was dis-
appointed.'

W. A. thought the latter part of it much below
the beginning.

Monday^ June 10. — Helen, I and Sonny call at
Carlyle's about 2. Sonny (aged 3 J) says, 'How do
you do, Mr. Carlyle } ' C. shakes hands with him, and
puts a hand on the curly head, saying ' O, this is a very
good kind of article.'

[One day Mr. Lecky and AUingham drove out with
Carlyle.]

Carlyle discoursed on Cromwell and Ireland : L. and
I disagreeing with almost everything he said, but chiefly
in silence. What use in speaking ? on Irish affairs he
finds nobody but Froude to agree with him. The Duke
of Wellington — ' Lord Stanhope (L. told us) asked the
Duke one day in company. Why in a certain Peninsular
battle the French did not move in such and such a way } '
— obviously, he implied, the proper thing to have done.
(Any one who has seen Lord Stanhope can easily picture
the self-satisfied manner in which the noble historian
would put this question.) The old Duke replied gruffly,
' Because they were not damned fools ! '

September 2. — Left home about 9 — Lancaster —
Carnforth — to the westward wide hills and vales and
misty mountain-land, ante-room and portals to the Lake
region.

Kendal, scatter of houses along the hill-side ; and
Lake-land, lying under clouds and mists.

Ullswater in the twilight, water gray and wintry,
woods and mountains beautiful, old trees hanging into
lake.

September 3. — To Patterdale — xA.ira Force — Penrith.
— Dumfries, Hotel. Read in Burns's Life.

278 DUMFRIES 1879

September 4. — Dumfries, Seek Burns Street, not
easy to find — formerly ' Mill Hole.' New School
House with bust of R. B. ; and next door Burns's little
house, unaltered. Into the house. Portrait of R. B.
in lower room. Upstairs, — little room where he died
(certain .''), little closet where 'tis said he used to write.
Walk over Old Bridge, lane, thatched cottages — corn-
fields, hills, Criffel, wide cheerful prospect.

Cassilands — ' Mr. Carlyle gone — to the Hill,' I walk
down to town — speak to decent elderly man. 'Mr.
Carlyle ? — yes — he's been stopping here at Cassilands.
I never heard much about him till last year — I under-
stan' he's vera clever. No Sir, I never read any o' his
warks. What may he hae written ? ' (I told him.)

To the Hill, pretty red-stone house, in shrubbery,
with peep of the hills to eastward.

Portraits of Carlyle, Mary — Enter Mrs. Aitken.
The Doctor very ill, poor fellow : they don't know
what it is. A doctor has been here, ' but you know he
(i.e. Dr. Carlyle) has no belief in medical skill.' T. C.
with Mary and Alick, at Moffat.^

Out. River, sweeping round, houses, low wall —
beautiful. Up Nith pathway, trees, fields, swift river
(reminds me of Erne).

' Globe Tavern ' — small snug rooms, Burns's corner
and chair (boarded in), narrow forked entrance — rough
stable-yard — upstairs, writing on panes.

Gin a body meet a body

Comin' through the grain.
Gin a body kiss a body

The thing's a body's ain.

(There was, and perhaps is, a way through the
stable-yard and back lanes from the ' Globe ' to Burns's
house in Mill Hole.)

I also saw where he lived in Bank Street (i.e. river-

* Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Carlyle, newly married, had just been joined
by Mr. Carlyle at MofFat.

i879 MOFFAT 279

bank ?) a few doors from the corner of the wide space
by the River (which reminded me of Ballyshannon).

September 5. — To Beattock — Moffat. Buccleuch
Arms — enter Mary, friendly greetings — then Alex-
ander. We go up into Carlyle's room — he shakes
hands in friendly wise.

After luncheon we four drive to the De'il's Beef-Tub.

Mary recalled Carlyle's first journey to Edinburgh,
on foot, at the age of fourteen.

C. — ' Ah yes — about seventy years ago, I came
through here, in the charge of a very decent man who
was driving two carts of potatoes up to Edinburgh.
When I got tired, he let me lie on the potatoes and
happed me in some sort of covering he had.'

On this youthful journey Carlyle peeped at the
source of the Annan in the De'il's Beef-Tub — a hollow
under Hartfell with steep sloping green sides, here and
there a streak of loose stones, and some little threads of
water slipping down.

Over the hill, not far, is the source of Tweed, which
I would fain have seen (there is a strong attraction in
river sources), but rain threatened. We saw a long
way down Annandale : Annan is doubtless the same as
Avon, Evan, etc. etc. — various forms of one of the
Gaelic words for water.

To-night we took up Burns, and Carlyle urged me
to read something — ' Let me see how you'll read it.'
I began ' The muckle deevil wi' a woodie Harle.'

He stopt me at every line, catechising. He then
read and repeated several pieces, showing great tenacity
and readiness of memory. He uttered a verse of ' Auld
Lang Syne ' in a kind of chant, evidently intended to
suggest that he was singing it, or could sing it if he
liked. One word of his version was different from
the words in the usual copies, and perhaps better :
instead of

An' here's a hand, my trusty fiere,
An' gie's a hand o' thine —

28o

ECCLEFECHAN

1879

C. said,

— gic's a haud (a hold) o' thine.

September 6. — Moffat. Fine. In open carriage, C,
M., A., and I for Ecclefechan ; tKey going on to
Newlands to meet James Carlyle and others.

At Lockerbie we stopt half an hour to bait the
horses. I walked through the village and returning to
the carriage found him seated there (horses gone) with
his thick gray hair uncovered. Barefooted children ran
about, people stood at shop-doors, no one appeared to
F recognise him. As we approached Ecclefechan he talked
a little of the localities, pointed out the wooded hill
called Woodcockair, and Repentance Tower — also the
conspicuous flat - topt hill known as ' Burnswark '
[Birrenswark], from which one can ' look down into
Yorkshire,' and on which stood a Roman city. We
' skirted Ecclefechan, and they drove on after dropping
me. A (tw steps brought me into the village street
and before the humble house, or half-house, in which
Thomas Carlyle was born. The small stone building
has a gateway through the middle of it. On each side
of this gateway is a tenement — of three rooms. In
the right-hand tenement, in the [larger] room upstairs,
the son of James and Margaret Carlyle was born on
the '4th December 1795. The ascent to the upper
rooms is by a steep flight of stone steps direct from
the front door to a very small landing, from which the
little room (birth-room) opens. Behind the tenement
are two or three other rooms.

A brook emerges from an arch a little above the
Carlyle house, and runs down past half a dozen houses
— a source of perpetual pleasure to the tairns, some of
whom are always ' paidling ' and trying to catch little
fishes, which they call ' beardies.' In the other half of
the house I found a girl of nineteen. After some chat
I inquired had she ever seen Mr. Carlyle ^. ' O aye,
often enough.' ' Would you like to see him again ? '
'No.'

1879 ECCLEFECHAN 281

At half-past four, as agreed, the carriage came, and
stopt to take me up. Two or three small groups of
villagers looked our way, but there was no kind of
greeting or palpable recognition whatever. Imagine an
Irishman of equal fame seen in his native place !

The scene of the family meeting, at which were
fourteen small nephews and nieces, was Newlands, a
farm occupied by one of James's sons. James is also
tenant of Thomas's Farm, Craigenputtock. ' James
never knew such bad times for farmers,' C. told me on
the way back.

At Lockerbie we again stopt half an hour. C. sat
in the carriage as before, I leant over the side and
talked to him. While we talked a biggish man came
out of the inn, — like a comfortable farmer, and bearing
a general resemblance to C. as many of the men do here
— he advanced to the carriage, took off his hat, and
said in a slow distinct voice without any expression in
his face or tone, ' 1 request the honour of shaking
hands with you. Sir ; I understand you're Mr. -Carlyle.'
C. looked at him, and after some seconds said, ' Who
are you. Sir } ' — the other, a little taken aback, ' O, I'm
only a farmer in the neighbourhood — I'm an admirer
of your writings. Sir, and I wished to shake hands with
you. I asked permission to shake hands with the
grandson of our national poet, Robert Burns, at
Lockerbie Station, and it was granted to me.' C.
slowly took off his glove and gave him a thin, brown
hand. ' Ye're lookin' fresh, Mr. Carlyle,' says the
farmer. ' Fresh,' returns C. — ' I'm very old and very
weak' — whereon the farmer, taking his hat off again,
withdrew, while C. muttered, 'I wish you well, Sir.'
We got back to Moffat about half-past eight — the
weather having threatened rain, but kept up all
through.

Sunday^ September 7. — I walked in the morning up
hill and by field path to Spa, some two miles, and drank
a glass of the water — pretty glen and rocky brook.

282 MOFFAT 1879

In Moffat Street meet C. and Alick coming slowly
across — rain begins — C. sits on a doorstep — we notice
name on signboard ' Jannetson,' which C. says he never
saw elsewhere. Back to inn, where C. comes with me
into the common parlour and I read to him from the
guide book an account of the source of Annan, etc.

In the evening I came into his room. Burns again
— ' poor fellow — utterly misplaced — the best songster
ever lived.'

I said Burns showed no signs of improvement in
conduct as he grew older. Did his wife make any
attempts to reform him .? No, C. thought, she tried
little or nothing that way, thought it no use.

' I was once brought to see Mrs. Burns in her old
age — she said little, nor did I, I had unspeakable
feelings in looking upon her, as though it were one of
the Greek tragic heroines — Clytemnestra herself! —
Bonnie Jean !— She was a quiet, grave person, no good
looks left.' C. spoke of how Burns took his death,
coming late out of the ' Globe,' drunk, and sitting
down on a stone (a louping-on-stane probably), which is
still in the close, on a cold, freezing winter's night.

Strange that no one looked after him. It was
doubtless too frequent a case to excite attention.
I C. said, ' I remember a man in Annandale telling me
I that he saw Burns lying dead-drunk in the back-yard of

ithe *' King's Head," and totally unheeded, save by a
passing look.'

Old John Tait, the sexton or bedrai, shewed me the

Mausoleum in St. Michael's churchyard of Dumfries, a

foolish kind of greenhouse or glass-case enclosing a

relievo of a clumsy Burns.

I Burns's body was moved hither from its original

f resting-place under a simple, and far more expressive,

j slab.

Carlyle told me, ' I went up one morning early,
before the graveyard was open, and climbed over the
wall ; there were many tombstones of Covenanters to

i879 MOFFAT 283

I
be seen ; searching about in the grass I suddenly came

upon a flat stone with " Robert Burns " on it and the
dates : it was the most impressive experience of the i
kind I have had in my life.'

Old Sexton Tait told me something of a grandson
of the Poet, who died in Dumfries a few weeks ago at
the age of fifty-eight. He drank daily as much whisky
as he could get by ' sponging,' chiefly at the ' Globe
Tavern,' on folk who ' treated ' him in memory of the
National Bard.

He had in his middle life a recognisable likeness to
the Poet, and his father was still more like, ' with the
same black eyes (Carlyle told me) — only the soul
entirely wanting in them ; they had no depth, — their
darkness was like that of polished cannel coal.' This
third Robert, lately dead, ' used to say (the Sexton told
me) he would like to have his grave here ' — namely,
under a small tree in a corner of the enclosed ground,
in front of the mausoleum or glass-case. ' He kennt
weel he wadna be allowed inside.'

There are illegitimate Burnses, I believe, still breath-
ing vital air at Dumfries. Better for his countrymen, for
mankind, and indeed for his own memory, if much less
noise had been made about the unlucky one's grave, if
the stone had been left in the churchyard grass to be
found by one and another pilgrim, not without tears.

I quoted to Carlyle Goethe's remark that, to win
high popular success and fame a man must have, not
only genius, but opportunity, — Napoleon inherited the
French Revolution, Burns the old Scottish Songs. C.
did not appear to know how much Burns owed to the
old songs, as Mary and I went over some of the
instances.

C. said that while the Poet in his last illness was
staying at the Brow, some miles from Dumfries, he
heard one day a farm-labourer speaking of various
things he was busy upon, and Burns said with a deep

284 LONDON 1879

sigh, ' Ah ! those were my happy days ' — meaning, when
he was thus occupied. To which Carlyle added,
* Gilbert Burns used often to say that his brother's
conversation was never afterwards so delightful as when
they two were working in the field, or digging peat
together. Robert was full of poetry and enthusiasm.'

September 8. — To the Grey Mare's Tail.

September 9. — Home — all well. Ready to start
to-morrow for Broadstairs.

October 18. — We returned to town from Broadstairs,
Oct. 15. I walked with my little son to Cheyne Row,
and met Mr. Carlyle coming out of the door to his
carriage ; he shook hands with Sonny, saying, ' Ah, he's
a bonny lad ! ' C. looks well, and even says ' Things
might be worse.'

December 4. — Helen and I to Cheyne Row. Carlyle's
eighty-fourth birthday. Mrs. Lecky there. Browning
and Ruskin are gone. C. on his sofa by the window,
warm and quiet, wearing a new purple and gold cap.
Gifts of flowers on the table. Birthday — ' O dear.'
He speaks of Ruskin, who, he says, is in better spirits
than he was. Asks me what I think of R.'s paper on
the clergy, in Contemporary Review. I own myself
puzzled as to his real meanings. C. : ' Oh yes, he
beheves all that — Can you lend me some book to read }
— a large book, that I can have satisfaction with.'

[AUingham notes during the winter : — ]

H. and I called on George Eliot, North Bank, first
time since Lewes's death. She seemed well and cheer-
ful, Herbert Spencer there. He talked of Art —
' people don't know what to admire — the Old Masters
— folly ! The R.A. Exhibition better than all the Old
Masters. The art of painting greatly advanced, etc.
etc. St. Mark's a barbarous and unpleasing edifice.'
George Eliot denounced ' the rain, or perpetual drizzle
of criticism under which we live.'

George Eliot called. Carlyle portraits : H.

wished to do hers : G. E. said she would * consider.'

CHAPTER XVIII

1880

Wednesday^ March 10. — I meet Carlyle's carriage in
the street and get in, Mary alights," Alick stays. We
drive through the Parks, looking green, to Swiss
Cottage. Carlyle, poor man, lies back crookedly in his
corner, noticing nothing of the outer world. Yet he
seems rather better than last time, a dim fire still in his
eyes, a dusky red in his cheeks. He talks of Erasmus
Darwin, the elder, with respect — has been reading a life
of him. ' The Loves of the Triangles is a poor thing.
The writer (Canning) knew very little about triangles.'
On politics he remarked, ' This time will be memorable
as the time when England was governed by a perfect
Charlatan.'

March 18. — Mary and Alick came to us in the
evening — Professor Tyndall and Mrs. T. had called on
Carlyle, who brightened up. They talked of the Fahr-
benlehre. C. hoped that Tyndall would get something
out of all the labour Goethe had given to this subject.
The Professor said Goethe had many excellent observa-
tions, but his theory was wrong.

Tyndall said, aside, to Mary, ' Say what he will
(of weakness), I never saw him looking grander.'

Afril 19. — To Carlyle's about 2.30, found him on
sofa, just awaked : Lecky by him. We got into the
carriage, and were driven through Hyde Park and
Regent's Park to Belsize Avenue, his most usual route ;

28;

286 HASLEMERE isso

then turned, L. had met Renan and found him very
agreeable. Renan reads English, but does not speak it.
C. said, ' I am reading Shakespeare again. I read
Othello yesterday all through, and it quite distressed
me. O what a fellow that is — honest lago ! I was once
at this Play at Drury Lane (it would be in Macready's
time — but he did not do me any good in it), and when
Emilia said —

O the more angel she
And you the blacker devil I

a murmur swelled up from the whole audience into a
passionate burst of approval, the voices of the men
rising — in your imagination — like a red mountain, with
the women's voices floating round it like blue vapour, you
might say. I never heard the like of it.' (I thought
this a curious remark — the interpretation of sound by
colour in it.)

Lecky recalled Macaulay's remark that an Italian
audience would look on lago as a comic character ;
adding, ' I have seen the play in Italy and found it was
as Macaulay said. Tricking husbands is the habitual
occupation of the Comic Man of the Italian stage.'

I out in St. John's Wood, and call on George Eliot,
She was looking well in a high cap and black silk dress.
I told her of C. and Othello — ' the red mountain and
blue vapour.' ' Like an imaginative child's description,'
she said.

[In the spring of this year the Allinghams went to
Haslemere, where they remained through the summer.
Tennyson and his Son were in Italy, and the family
came to Blackdown later than usual.]

August 5. — Haslemere — very fine ; Helen and I
started about 3.30 to walk to Tennyson's, as invited.
In the shady lane the carriage overtook us, T. had
kindly called for us. He was in the carriage with his
little grandson, Alfred, in his nurse's lap, and Mr.
Fields, an American guest. Little Alfred, aged three,
had on the great Alfred's black sombrero, and the

,88o HASLEMERE 287

child's straw hat with a blue ribbon was stuck on the
top of the poet's huge head, and so they drove gravely
along. I followed on foot along the heath-fringed road
on Blackdown, overlooking the vast expanses of light
and shadow, golden cornfields, blue distances, from
Leith Hill to Chanctonbury Ring. Walked through
the house,^ ^ong hall open at each end, and found tea
on the further lawn, smooth, shut in with shrubs.
The view of the lower windows of the house is now
shut out by the growth of twigs and leaves. A. T.
in sombrero and gray suit, broad shouldered. He has
been at Venice, Cadore, etc., with Hallam.

T. took me to a top room and out on the balcony
to see * the enormous view.' ' I sometimes see a spire
out yonder (due east), but I don't know what it is.'
Horsham I suggest, adding, ' Field Place is near it,
Shelley's birthplace.' Below, H. sketched Don, the
handsome old setter, Hallam keeping him quiet.

T. — ' I gave Irving my Thomas a Becket. He said
.it was magnificent, but it would cost ^3000 to mount
it, — he couldn't afford the risk. If well put on the
stage, it would act for a time, and it would bring me
credit — but it wouldn't pay. The success of a piece
doesn't depend on its literary merit or even on its stage
effect, but on its hitting somehow. Miss Terry said
" we act mechanically after a long run — but on a first
night nobody suspects how we have our hearts in our
mouths ! " '

T. did not much approve Irving's Shylock. ' He
made you pity Shylock too much. I told Miss Terry
she ought, as advocate, to stand on the steps to
gain advantage, instead of standing on the level — a
little female thing — and looking up at him. The
worst of writing for the stage is you must keep some
actor always in your mind.'

Sunday^ August 8. — Helen and I walked up —

1 Aldworth. This entry, with two earlier ones in 1863, has already
appeared in Hallam Lord Tennyson's Memoir of his Father.

288 ALD WORTH isso

reached the house about 4. Tennyson on the front
terrace with his two dogs, Don and Grig. He asked
Helen had she brought her paints to finish Don's
portrait. ' No — why not ? Sunday ,'' No one with
wits in their brain would object. It's as allowable as
lawn-tennis. Boys play cricket now on a Sunday. It's
High Church to play cricket.'

Lord Lytton's return from India. T. spoke in his
favour. I object — the Afghan War, etc.

T. — ' How can we know the rights and wrongs ? '

W. A. — ' An intelligent man has both the means
and the right to form an opinion on public affairs now-
a-days. The main particulars are soon published.'

T. — ' I was arguing with the Duke of Argyll about
Roumania and Turkey, and said to him. Why don't
you answer me ? He said, " You haven't read the
Blue Books." '

Matthew Arnold — ' " Something outside of us that
makes for righteousness " — ugh ! ' (This is a sort of
grunt of disgust very usual with T.)

' I was asked by some one in London, " Shall I ask
M. A. .? " I said I didn't much like dining with
Gods ! '

T. praised in a general way Thyrsis and The Scholar-
Gipsy.

' Thyrsis very artificial,' I thought.

' So is Lycidas^ he said.

' But Lycidas came first and was in the spirit of its age.'

I brought in my hand Ferguson's Poems, the volume
published in May. T. looked into it but soon put it
down. He read 'The Widow's Cloak' — 'I don't
much care for it ; I can't read anything, much less
poetry. On account of my eyes — yes — the doctor says
I must only read for half an hour at a time. I shouldn't
like both eyes to go. Everything now looks as in a
very dusky twilight.'

He asked had I read Browning's new volume ^
' " Clive " is the best.'

i88o

ALDWORTH 28<

A letter from Browning this morning, about ' Clive,'
is produced. He says some reviewers have charged
him with altering the story of the duel because his

version is not that in the memoir by ; but there it

is clumsily done, and Clive's suicide is so slurred over, in
the same book, that you might take it to have been an
ordinary death. Browning had his version from Mrs.
Jameson (while travelling in her company on the
Continent) — she having just heard it told by Macaulay
at Lord Lansdowne's table.

At dinner — the account in a New York paper {^rhe
Tribune') of Lionel's wedding — 'the Poet Laureate,
bent figure and tottering gait.'

' Why, there were five steps to come down, — no one
had told me of them ; I was looking for them in the
obscurity, lest I should tumble on my nose.'

Then T. spoke of satire in general. ' It's quite
dreadful to think of how satire will endure, no matter
how unfair, if well written. Look at Pope —

Now night descending, the proud scene was o'er.
But liv'd in Settle's numbers one day more.

The perfection of that brings tears into one's eyes — and
it pillories Settle for ever ! Everything will be in the
British Museum — even the newspapers.'

We agreed on the absurdity of accumulating news-
papers there, too many books even. But how select }
— Who is to be empowered to do it 1

A. — ' Carlyle declares his father was the strongest-
minded man he knew, yet he would admit no poetry
into his house.'

T. — ' He was right.'

A. — * Nor fiction of any sort.'

T. — ' There he was wrong. But I suppose he was
an old Puritan.'

T. denounced vivisection most fiercely : declared he
would not owe his own life to a cruel experiment on a
dog.

290 ALDWORTH 1880

He made Helen taste his wine (Vouvray) from his
own glass, and took her into the drawing-room.

' If the pronunciation of the English language were
forgotten, Browning would be held the greatest of
modern poets, having treated the greatest variety of
subjects in a powerful manner.'

(Calverley called Browning ' a well of English
defiled.')

Wednesday^ August 11. — About 4 Tennyson calls
with little Alfred and baby Charley (whom T. calls
' The Philosopher ').

' Don died on Sunday night. Hallam heard him
howling, and thought there might be strangers about.'

Tea in the garden under apple tree ; T. praises the
house, likes the steps in the garden, etc.

' Done by an artist — that accounts for it.' ^

Friday^ August 13. — Helen and I with the babes
to Tennyson's. He sits on chair beside us. Two

Miss s call (very old family). Tennyson tells us

afterwards ' A former Lord H , queer old fellow —

was found on his knees near the kitchen one day riddling
the cinders — he looked up and said, "Dick never
riddles 'em right." He kept his two daughters in the
nursery till they were thirty, and then they climbed
over the garden wall and ran away. The young ladies
to-day would have my autograph — ugh ! I said,
" the glory of your presence has got it. I would never
have sent it if you had asked by letter." '

Fair and dark people — dark people are thinner
skinned.

T. — ' I am. A countryman in the North said, " A
wouldn't be as black as him for summat ! " At Dieppe
the touter appealed to me as French, Spanish, Italian —
and at last said in astonishment " Vous etes Anglais I "
But my brother Frederick, a white and rosy man, got
much more admiration when we travelled together — he
was adored by all the landladies and chambermaids.'

1 Cecil Lawson's cottage at Haslemere.

i88o ALD WORTH 291

' The New Forest is the finest thing in England, the
most peculiar. There are mountains elsewhere, and
cliffs, and lakes. When Palgrave and 1 came back
from Spain we went to the New Forest, and as we lay
under great trees with a green heaven above our heads
I said, " We saw nothing so fine as this in Spain," and
he said, " No." '

August 20. — Helen and I walk to T.'s. Blackdown
now purple with ling and heather. Lawn : Mrs.
Tennyson in invalid chair.

Mr. Edward Lear coming on Monday — one of
twenty children — drew birds at fourteen to help his
family. Improvises on pianoforte.

A. T. and Hallam — Browning's Dramatic Idylls.

T.- — ' I wish he hadn't taken my word Idyll. I said
the other day and you took it as a jest, but I meant it
seriously, " if the pronunciation of the English language
were lost. Browning would be considered the greatest
of modern poets." '

W. A. — 'A basis of good sense is often wanting
In him.'

T. — ' I don't perceive that.'

W. A. — ' What do you make of Fifine ? '

T. — ' I couldn't make anything of it. I tried it
several times, and took it in my pocket on a walk —
that's the best way to try,'

W. A. — ' " Clive " is simpler. But why was Clive
afraid once in his life, as he confessed ? '

T. — ' Because he had a pistol put to his head.'

W. A. — ' Not at all. When his friend thought so,
Clive swore at him furiously. Clive was afraid that his
antagonist might make him a present of his life — in
which case there would have been nothing for it but
suicide.'

Hallam. — '■ No doubt that's it.'

Sunday, August 22. — Hallam and Lionel Tennyson,
with Miss Ritchie, call on us after church. Helen and
I walk up to T.'s. At dinner, talk of Ireland.

292 ALDWORTH 1880

The Church of Rome — I speak of its singleness of
aim but flexibility to circumstances, and variety of
resources.

Miss Ritchie began — 'They embrace so wonder-
fully ' — when T. cut in : ' Did they ever embrace you ?
Were you ever kissed by a dozen priests ? ' The
young lady laughed.

Miss Ritchie played Beethoven's ' Aurora ' Sonata
finely. T. came in and listened.

' I wish I could understand it — I could perceive a
rushing as of a torrent — and flashes of light.'

Miss R. — ' I think it's exactly like sunrise — and very
like your poem too, " Out of the Deep." '

Sunday^ August 29. — Hallam calls. Helen and I
walk up to Aldworth. Find A. T. on seat at end of
lower terrace, reading a large type New Testament.
We sit beside him.

Tennyson shows me a paper by Mr. Crookes (Roy,
Soc.) on 'Four Kinds of Matter,' Solid, Liquid,
Gaseous, and another which is imperceptible to the
senses (sometimes called ' Ether '). Molecules and
atoms.

T. said (or something like this) — ' I believe we never
see Matter : what we count the material world is only
an appearance.'

Huxley's question, ' Has a frog a Soul } '

W. A. — ' I should first ask, " What do you mean by
Soul } " But Huxley says questions about " Soul " and
" the Future " don't interest him.'

T. — ' Then, surely, that shows defect in him !
Tyndall's metaphysics are very shaky, I think. They
don't see that they are destroying their country.

' Old Sedgwick told me he visited Laplace in his
last days and the old Astronomer said to him — " You
are an Englishman, suff'er me to say to you a word or
two on politics. Never emancipate the Catholics, and
never tamper with your glorious constitution." '

Tennyson dislikes our quitting Afghanistan — ' the

i88o ALDWORTH 293

want of continuity in our policy is the curse of our
country ; I believe Parliaments will be its ruin. We
might have ruled the Afghans and made them good
subjects, like the Sikhs.'

I said England had no business in Afghanistan.
Lord Beaconsfield's policy was disapproved by Lord
Lawrence, Lord Northbrook, and a majority of the
Council of India. T. stuck to his own views. I told
him, ' you always declare England to be right, whatever
she does.'

T. — ' I think she's often shockingly wrong. In this
case it's unsafe to draw back.'

Speaking of the Irish agitator who said, ' I think
their cattle will not much prosper,' — a speech followed
by the maiming of many animals, — he exclaimed, ' How
I hate that man — Ireland's a dreadful country ! I
heartily wish it was in the middle of the Atlantic'

' Below the surface ? ' I asked.

' No, no, a thousand miles away from England. I
like the Irish — I admit the charm of their manners — but
they're a fearful nuisance.'

' Very troublesome,' I admitted, ' but there's some
truth in the popular Irish notion that nothing can be
got from England except by agitation.'

T. is a constant novel reader. ' What I dislike is
beginning a new novel. I should like to have a novel
to read in a million volumes, to last me my life.'

September 2. — Drove up to Tennyson's to dinner.
H. and I., Aubrey de Vere, Dr. Bradley, Mrs. and Miss
Bradley.

A. T., Aubrey de Vere and I talk of poetry.

T. and I agree on the odiousness of various readings
inserted on a poet's page — and of critical notes.

De Vere blames Ruskin for his recent remarks on
Wordsworth, — ' a Westmorland peasant, etc'

De V. wishes Wordsworth had written his magnum
opus, of which the Prelude was the beginning.

T. — ' His small things are the best. Even his

294 ALDWORTH 1880

" Tintern Abbey," fine as it is, should have been much
compressed,'

De V. — ' But if it pleased the artistic sense more,
might it not appeal less to the sympathies ? '

T, — ' A great deal might be left out.'

W. A. — ' One could turn the largest part of the
Excursion into prose, very seldom altering a word,
merely re-arranging. Here and there a line or a
passage of poetry would be left, like a quotation. It is
much easier to write bad blank verse than good prose.'

T. — ' And it is much easier to write rhyme than
good blank verse. I should not be sorry to lose any-
thing from a poet which is not beautiful poetry. One
plods over Wordsworth's long dreary plains of prose —
one knows there's a mountain somewhere, and now and
again you come to astonishing things. In old times,
when copying was costly, Catullus, Horace, and the
others gave only their best.'

De V. — ' Wordsworth ought to have done great
and perfect things, one fancies. He lived a poetic life,
he devoted himself to poetry, — How was it ^ '

W. A. — ' For many years he never read any poetry
but his own. His mind became monotonous.'

De V. — ' I believe that is true. And he was con-
tinually touching and altering, and sometimes injuring
what he had written.'

W. A. — ' His experience of real life was neither
wide nor various. His material ran short.'

De V. — ' And yet, if he gives us a good deal of
dulness, might not the same be said of Homer and of
Milton.?'

T. (grunts) — ' No, no ! '

De V. — ' Well, I find a great deal of Homer very
dull — and surely the last six books of Paradise Lost are
much below the first six .? '

T — ' Possibly — but there's the charm of Milton's
style. He invented his verse — just as much as Virgil
invented his.'

i88o ALDWORTH 295

De V. — ' I read to Wordsworth your

Of old sat Freedom on the heights,

and —

You ask me, why, tho' ill at ease,

and he said, *' Fine poetry and very stately diction." '

T. said ' H'm ! ' contentedly.

W. A. — ' Coleridge was more essentially a Poet than
Wordsworth.'

T. — ' I don't know that.'

De V. — ' I think so. But how melancholy to think
that all his finest poems were produced in one single
year of his life. Then he went to Germany and took
to Metaphysics — such a pity ! '

T. — ' But the man I count greater than them all —
Wordsworth, Coleridge, Byron, Shelley, every one of
'em — is Keats, who died at twenty-five — thousands of
faults ! (twiddling the fingers of one hand in the air) —
but he's wonderful ! '

De V. — ' He doesn't pall upon you ? '

T.— ' No.'

De V. — ' Shelley used to be a great idol of yours.'

T. — ' O yes. We lived near the most prosaic village
in the world, a little beast ! where they had never heard
of anything. One day we went there to meet my brother
Frederick, who was coming back from somewhere,
and as we were driving home he whispered, " I've got a
poet who's much grander than Byron," and repeated
one line —

Waterfalls leap among wild islands green,

which I thought delicious,

^ Alastor was the first poem of his I read. I said,
" This is what I want ! " — and still I like it the best,
though one can't tell how much these first loves are to
be trusted. The Revolt of Islam is splendid but gives
me a headache — it's fatiguing — all mountain tops and
glories.'

De V. agreed, and named as his favourites The Ode to

296 ALDWORTH isso

the West Wind — Ode to Naples — (of which he recited
some lines, and another piece).

Tennyson quoted a passage from Shelley and said
' what can you do with a man who has such command
of language ? But Keats was not wild and wilful, he
had always an intention. At the same time he was
daimonisch^ — he had a touch (he was a livery-stable
keeper's son — I don't know where he got it from, unless
from Heaven).

Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn ;
The same that oft-times hath
Charm'd magic casements opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

' What can be lovelier ^ (He said the last two
lines again.) I once saw it printed " In fairyland
forlorn," which totally ruined it — one doesn't know
why.'

W. A. — ' " Fairyland " has been much used.'

When I shook hands with him he said, ' Good-night,
Statuette ! ' I laughed and said, ' I know what you
mean.' (A little poem in my Songs, Ballads and Stories,
a volume Hallam borrowed of me yesterday and which
T. had not seen before.)

T. — ' It's modest — and it may be quite true. No
one can in the least tell who will survive.'

We went out to the porch, T., Hallam, De Vere,
Helen and I, with lantern — brilliant starry night.

T. — ' Millions upon millions of suns.'

W. A. — ' And Whewell argues that the earth is
probably the only seat of conscious life. Suppose one
looking from a distance at the Earth, a dot among other
dots.'

T. — ' That's just what I said at the time.'

We parted, and H. and I followed our lantern-gleam
on the heath and down the shady lane to Haslemere.

September 19. — Rain — clears. H. and I walk to

i88o ALDWORTH 297

Aldworth — glorious prospects, breadth of sunshine and
shadow — green woodlands, bounding hills, blue distances
— sweet cool air. Mrs. Tennyson very friendly.

T. — ' A lady the other day here — a very nice woman
(I don't altogether like the word, but I want it), was
praising a friend of yours. " Nice " is objectionable, but
it is useful — a '* nice " person is one that you're satisfied
with.'

W. A. — ' It used to mean fastidious, — discriminative,
but there's not much harm in its being turned about
and applied to the object.'

T. — ' No : it's something or somebody that satisfies
your niceness.'

Hallam takes H. and me down hill and shows us
old house which belonged to Denzil Holies.

Dinner, pleasant and lively talk.

T. — 'A Russian noble, who spoke English well,
said one morning to an English guest, *' I've shot two
peasants this morning." — " Pardon me, you mean
pheasants." *' No, indeed, two men — they were in-
solent and I shot them." '

W. A. — ' In Ireland it's the other way.'

T. — ' Couldn't they blow up that horrible island with
dynamite and carry it off in pieces — a long way off ? '

W. A. — ' Why did the English go there ? '

T. — ' Why did the Normans come to England .''
The Normans came over here and seized the country,
and in a hundred years the English had forgotten all
about it, and they were all living together on good
terms.'

(I demurred : T. went on, raising his voice). — ' The
same Normans went to Ireland, and the Irish with
their damned unreasonableness are raging and foaming
to this hour ! '

W. A. — ' The Norman Duke had a claim on the
crown of England.'

T. — ' No rightful claim,'

W. A. — ' But suppose all these to be bygones. You

298 ALD WORTH 1880

speak of a century, a short time in history — think what
Ireland had to complain of only in the last century —
the penal laws, and the deliberate destruction of their
growing industry by the English Government : what do
you say to that ? '

T. — ' That was brutal ! Our ancestors were horrible
brutes ! And the Kelts are very charming and sweet
and poetic. I love their Ossians and their Finns and
so forth — but they are most damnably unreasonable ! '

W. A. — ' They are most unfortunate.'

Hallam. — ' What would you do .-* '

W. A. — ' This last phase of discontent is perhaps
the worst — flavoured with Americanism and general
irreverence ; but what I would have done long ago I
would try still — encourage peasant proprietorship to
the utmost possible.'

Hallam. — ' Get rid of all the landlords and give the
land to the people } '

W. A. — ' Not at all. There are many good Irish
landlords, and they usually get on well with their tenants.
The peasant proprietors would have to be made grad-
ually, and on business principles.'

T. — ' What is the difference between an English
landlord and an Irish landlord .'' '

W. A. — ' Is it a conundrum ? '

T.— ' Not at all.'

(I tried to explain some great differences. T. came
back to his old point.)

T. — ' The Kelts are so utterly unreasonable ! The
stupid clumsy Englishman — knock him down, kick him
under the tail, kick him under the chin, do anything
to him, he gets on his legs again and goes on ; the Kelt
rages and shrieks and tears everything to pieces ! '

Tennyson spoke of the ' sea of silver mist ' seen at
early morning from his windows at this season — also of
the effect of mist spread over the wide green woodland
and the sun shining on it — ' incredible ! Turner would
have tried it.'

1880 ALDWORTH 299

Mrs. T. thought it a great pity that the French
Government was interfering with the ReHgious Orders —
even those that nursed the sick. I said they were deal-
ing with the Church of Rome as a great political power,
known to be adverse to the Republic.

T. spoke of Venice. ' We stayed too short a time
— the Giant's Stairs are very fine. Milan Cathedral
struck me far more than St. Mark's.'

I quoted —

A mount of marble ! a hundred spires !

T. — ' Well, that's what it seemed like. Plenty to
object to, no doubt — but the great coloured windows
are wonderful. Putting together the little I have seen
of Italy, this time and the first time, I think the great
charm is the number of old cities, so various, each with
a character of its own.'

We talked of London. T. has a vague notion
that he would like to live there. ' Chelsea Embank-
ment is a charming place — I could live there all the
year.' Hallam (^sotto voce). — ' He always gets tired of
London in a fortnight.'

I referred to Emerson's essay (in Society and Solitude).,
that the feeling of Age is often less in ourselves than in
our consciousness of being looked upon as old by others.

T. (partly agreeing). — ' Yes ; I feel younger in some
ways than when I was fifty.'

In talking of London, we spoke of old nooks and
corners, old taverns, ' Bertolini's,' off Leicester Square,
now shut up ; old Mr. Seymour — who dined there
fifty years, etc. ; * The Cock' — 'Dick's.'

T. — * I had a room at " Dick's " once — I often dined
at " The Rainbow." '

He has, amid his ruralism, longings now and again
for the humours of London streets ; but alas he cannot
easily go about without provoking notice. An Irish
flower girl said to T. in Regent St., ' Ah, sure now,
Misther Tinnison, ye'll buy this little nosegay ! '

300 ALDWORTH 1880

September 23. — H. and I walked up to Aldworth to
dinner.

Dr. Johnson. — T. : ' I don't think I should have
liked his company, but I like Boswell's book.'

Byron. — T. : ' When a boy I used to worship him.
But I do think Byron great. His Vision of Judgment
is the most wonderful thing in the world.' Then T.
quoted from Don Juan —

Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell, etc.

I said ' The Shipwreck ' as a whole was not good.
T. — ' The famous lines about the sea in Childe Harold
are abominably bad.'

We examined them. I suggested —

Thy waters washed them while they were free —

as possible, but T. truly thought ' washed ' was not like
Byron ; he was more likely to write ' wasted,' sense or
no sense.

Ruskin's criticisms on Byron in the Nineteenth
Century. ' After reading them I read " The Island "
through the other night.'

' Well, did you find much in it } '

*No.'

* And what Ruskin calls the finest line ever written
by an Englishman about the sea —

the swell

Of Ocean's Alpine azure rose and fell.'

T. — ' The open vowels are good. I don't know
what is meant by " Alpine azure." And certainly that
about the rivulet falling from the cliff being like a
goat's eye is very bad.'

W. A. — ' What did you think of Ruskin's article
altogether } '

T. — 'I thought his remarks on the passage in
Shakespeare very good — on the fitness of the placing
of words.'

Tennyson drives into Haslemere ; he sits in our

i88o HASLEMERE 301

garden ^ and looks at newspaper — admires the up-hill
garden and fir trees : 'it is like one at Florence, The
south of England is like Italy. When I came back
this summer and looked from the terrace at Black-
down, I thought it was exactly like Italy.'

[In the evening at Aldworth.] T. read us the
' Bugle Song.' I said ' That's Killarney.'

T. — ' Yes, it was Killarney suggested it. The bugle
echoes were wonderful — nine times — at last like a chant
of angels in the sky. But when I was there afterwards
I could only hear two echoes, — from the state of the
air. I complained of this and said, "when I was here
before I heard nine." " Oh ! " says the bugler, *' then
you're the gintleman that's brought so much money
to the place!"' (The 'Bugle Song' increased the
number of tourists to Killarney.)

He said an Irish lady asked him how he liked the
scenery — ' Too much bog,' he thought, ' black and
dismal.' ' O then, where,' she retorted in tones of
indignation — ' where would you have the poor people
cut their turf ^ '

Afterwards Tennyson read to us from his new un-
published volume, 'The Cobbler with his gin bottle,'
* The Entail ; or. The Village Wife ' — ' one of those
gossiping beasts ! ' he said.

Wednesday^ October 13. — Tennyson and I drive in
his carriage up Hindhead as far as the Huts, to look for
gypsies, but find none.

T. — ' Old Hallam used to say the longer one lived
the higher one rated Dryden as a poet.'

W. A. — ' I should say that to rate Dryden very high
is proof of a non-poetic mind.'

Helen, at his wish, made a sketch of the landscape as
seen through one of the arches of the porch. T.,
looking over her, said : ' I suppose I owe vou _^20 for
this ^ ' H. said the payment would be to give her a
sitting or two, and he gave in rather grumblingly ;

1 The Allinghams were now in a house under Court's Hill, Haslemere.

302 ALDWORTH 1880

hitherto he had refused, and said one day, ' I'll go out
of the room if you look at me ! '

H. had two or three short sittings in his study, with
fading light, and made a couple of beginnings. He
promised to sit again when we next met, I talked to
him while he sat, and tried to keep him from looking
unhappy. He gave Helen a copy of the collected
edition of his brother Charles's Sonnets, about to be
published, and one day read several of them to her with
great feeling and warm praise. He read the Sonnet I
said had impressed me a year ago. T. said : ' I know
the place, the road, everything.'

He spoke of the objection that the Sonnets were not
in perfect sonnet form, and said, ' I never care to read
a perfect sonnet. I look down the rhymes and that's
enough. I thought the other day of writing a sonnet
beginning —

I hate the perfect Sonnet !

After going on for four lines I should say

And now there's " down" and "crown " and "frown" and "brown" :
I'll take the latter. Then there's "cheer" and "fear" —
And several others, —

and so forth, would it be worth doing ? '

T. often speaks of the absolute need of delicacy of
elocution to give the true beauty of poetry.

T. — ' Rogers used to quote with approval the praise
of good verse by some Frenchman who declared it to
be beau comme prose, that is, as easy and natural.'

T. — ' I'm sQ.vQnty -nine (this was a joke), but I don't
feel the weight of age on my shoulders. I can run
up-hill ; I can waltz — but when I said this to Fanny
Kemble she replied in a ghastly voice, " I hope I shall
never see you do it ! " '

He read us very powerfully the poem of the mother
and the gibbet. I objected to the title of ' Rizpah '
(in private life he called it 'Bones'), and also to an
explanatory note (now omitted) prefixed to the piece.

i88o HASLEMERE 303

The lady who gave him the story called it ' The Modern
Rizpah.' She gave it as true, the scene near Bright-
helmstown, but dates and other particulars vague.

Tennyson said : ' I used to write long letters —
beautiful letters. I used to write to Sir Vere de Vere,
who's now dead. I once wrote to him (I forget the
sentence, which was imaginative in its turn), and in his
reply he said, " My dear fellow, what rubbish you do
write to me ! " '

October 11. — Haslemere. Our last visit (this time)
to Aldworth. Snow on the ground. We all drive up.

The Wordsworth Society. — T. entirely objects to it.
* They'll give one a disgust for Wordsworth. Why
can't people be quiet } Ugh !

' Reading magazines breaks one's mind all to bits.
One ought to leave off newspapers.

' A servant woman that left us told somebody in her
next place: "She is an angel., but he — why he's only a
public writer." ' (T. often says English people have
no respect for poets.)

Looking at the chimney-piece, T. said : ' When I
began to read Italian, I wrote down every word that
puzzled me on the sides and front of the chimney-
piece where I lodged — painted white — and made a kind
of dictionary for myself. 1 went away for two or three
days and when I came back it was all washed off.
" Thought it was dirt," the woman said.

' Worse than that — when I was twenty-two I wrote
a beautiful poem on Poland, hundreds of lines long,
and the housemaid lit the fire with it. I never could
recover it.'

Tennyson repeated some lines of his own from an old
idyll never published, they were something like this —

The rich wed richer, and the poor the poor,
The mount of gold accumulating still,
The gulf of want enlarging, deepening, till
The one into the other sink at last
With all confusion.

304 ALDWORTH 1880

' That's not quite the thing — " all confusion." Oh,
I've written thousands of lines that went up the
chimney.'

After dinner Tennyson called on Hallam to sing
' John Brown,' which he accordingly began in a strong
bass voice, T. joining in (the first time I ever heard
him try any musical performance), and sometimes
thumping with his fists on the table —

John Brown's body lies mouldering in the grave.
But his soul is marching on !

He urged Hallam to go on, saying, ' I like it, I like it,'
but Hallam thought the noise too great, and drew oiF.
The soul marching on delighted Tennyson.

In the evening he read us in the drawing-room
' The Voyage of Maildun ' (from Joyce's Old Celtic
Romances).

T. — ' At first I made half the men kill the other
half in every fray, and Maildun himself return
alone'

I said the Irish were fond of extravagant stories,
somewhat in the manner of Rabelais, and told him of
another, where the hero travelled by land. We talked
of subjects for poems, and T. said ' I want something
quite mad.'

After eleven we went home in T.'s carriage, happy
with the good company and friendly kindness.

[While at Haslemere the Allinghams had heard with
great sorrow of the death of ' the kindest of friends,'
Mr. Tom Taylor. They had always been made welcome
at his delightful house, meeting there noted and interest-
ing people, Sir Henry Irving, Miss Ellen Terry, and
many others. It is not, however, so much as host and
hostess — gifted and hospitable though they were — that
Mr. and Mrs. Tom Taylor will be remembered — but
as the truest and most sympathetic of friends, with the
overflowing kindness that springs from warm hearts
united in family affection.]

i88o LONDON 305

October 24. — Chelsea. Yesterday, returned to town.
Carlyle's about five o'clock — feebler in look and voice.
I told him of Haslemere — Tennyson.

Wednesday^ October 27. — Took Mary home from
our house about 11 p.m., and found Carlyle in his
drawing-room reading a new edition of Burns. He
often reads in it (Mary said), notes and all, without his
spectacles. He again said he found Burns ' the greatest
since Shakespeare.' We talked of Campbell.

C. praised Campbell's ' Lochiel,' ' The Mariners of
England,' etc., and presently began to repeat ' The
Battle of the Baltic,' giving four or five verses.

' I was greatly taken with these as a lad, and repeated
some of them to my Father, who usually cared nothing
at all for such things.'

' Was he impressed } ' I asked.

C. — ' O yes ' (repeating) —

. . . when each gun
From its adamantine lips

(he thought he had never heard so grand an expression
as that)

Spread a death-shade round the ships,
Like a hurricane eclipse
Of the sun !

Then we spoke of Nelson.

C. — ' Never was any one so sagacious in divining his
enemy's plans and whereabouts. I well remember hear-
ing of Nelson's death.' (C. was in his tenth year.)

* A neighbour woman was in one evening talking
with my mother about the War and the Fleet, and what
great things were supposed to be at hand ; the next
day she came in and said all their speculations had been
vain, a tremendous battle had already been fought, the
French and Spanish Fleets were smashed to pieces, and
— Nelson was killed. I could not understand all, but
I recollect I had much more grief for his death than
joy for the victory.'

3o6 LONDON 1880

October 29. — H. and I to Hammersmith, Stephens's.
Holly's birthday. W, Rossetti and wife, Jenny and
May Morris. Talk with W. M. R. — Shelley, Browning,
etc. Home : stars (I think of Ballyshannon and the
sound of the Atlantic).

Saturday^ December 4. — Helen and I call on Carlyle.
His eighty-fifth birthday.

C. seems better and easier ; more himself. He asks
what I am doing.

December 19. — H. and I to visit Sir Theodore and
Lady Martin. (Burton just going out — ' Fergusons
well.') Talk — theatricals — Warner — the Batemans —
' no poetic actress now.' I suggest Modjeska, who
throws sweetness into everything — friendly.

December 23. — Death of George Eliot. Alas ! that
little visit at Witley was the last. Her affectionate
demeanour then we shall remember.^

Friday, December 24. — To Carlyle's at 2. He was
lying on the sofa in the drawing-room. When I spoke
to him he held out his hand and shook hands with me,
but said nothing. I was not sure that he knew me.
A stout Scotch servant girl and I lifted him to his
feet to go to the carriage. In the hall his heavy seal-
skin coat was put on with difficulty, and he was got
into the carriage, Alick and I with him. We drove
twice round Hyde Park. The old man dozed much.

[From this time forth Carlyle grev/ steadily weaker.
Mrs. Alexander Carlyle, whose wise and tender care
of him had been unceasing for the past thirteen years,
was now joined by her Husband in her devoted attend-
ance on her Uncle.

This may perhaps be a fitting place to say some-
thing about Allingham's own literary work during the
period — now drawing to a close — of his life in London.

Besides the routine of editing, he contributed, from

1 The Allinghams had called on George Eliot, then Mrs. Cross, at the
Heights, shortly before they returned from Haslemere.

III' in n in,

am,^ '^JaJJt^ ^/t.cTc

'T.I I ma/iani
>/oiir p<n~trai t

i88o LONDON 307

time to time, an article to the magazine — ' Seven
Hundred Years Ago ' (chapters on early Irish history,
much and often commended by Carlyle), ' Modern
Prophets,' ' Painter and Critic,' etc. — and, frequently,
a column of critical and other notes and remarks, under
the general title of ' Ivy Leaves.'

In 1877 he brought out (with Messrs. George Bell
and Sons) a collection of his poems — Songs, Ballads,
and Stories.

He had other work in preparation — An Evil May
Day, a poem embodying his views on religion, in relation
to dogma and science — and Ashby Manor, an historical
play, to which Allingham gives a note at the end of his
volume. Thought and Word. He sent a copy of this
play to several London managers, one of whom entered
into a correspondence with him and ' highly praised the
play.' Some months after this manager produced a
' kind of clumsy parody of Ashhy Manor — with sense-
less melodramatic additions and an entirely irrelevant
fifth act.' On this being pointed out to him he asserted
that he ' scarcely recollected anything about Ashhy Manor. ^
Later, an almost similar fate befell another little play of
Allingham's, Hopgood and Co}

During these years pleasant intercourse was kept
up — though the meetings were not always mentioned
in detail in the diary — with Allingham's old friends of
the earlier time — with the Burne-Joneses and Morrises —
the Holman Hunts, Arthur Hugheses, F. G. Stephenses,
Moncure Conways, and especially with Madame Bodi-
chon. Sir Percy and Lady Shelley had built a house
on the Chelsea Embankment, and friendly meetings
are noted with them and with the De Morgans, G. P.
Boyces, W. Bell Scotts, Mr. and Mrs. Christison, and
many other near neighbours.]

1 Allingham had always taken a great interest in the drama : although
not a constant theatre-goer, he rarely missed seeing a notable actor or
performance.

CHAPTER XIX

1881-1883

January 17. — Helen visited Mary C. to-day. Carlyle
keeps his bed yesterday and to-day. He lies now on a
water-bed, which is placed in the drawing-room (first-
floor front looking on Cheyne Row). The Scotch maid
stays in the room all night. Mary said she looked at his
clothes, and thought he might never put them on again.

After taking finally to his bed the venerable man
spoke hardly at all ; there was no physical obstruction
of the organs of speech, but almost total absence of
will or wish to say anything. Sometimes when Mary
was doing something for him he would say, in a low
tone, ' Ah, poor little woman.' He was heard to say
* Poor little Tommy' — thinking of his grand-nephew of
a few months old. Once, he supposed the female hands
that tended him, lifting his head perhaps, to be those
of his good old Mother — ' Ah, Mother, is it you } ' he
murmured, or some such words, I think it was on the
day before the last day that Mary heard him saying to
himself, ' S9 this is Death : well — '

The ' well ! ' pronounced as if meaning, ' So be it !
we shall see what it is like.'

After this nothing was heard from him, except his
nephew's name, ' Alick,' once or twice.

During these melancholy days of the end of January
and beginning of February 188 1, Helen and I were in
the habit of going down in the evenings to inquire at

308

LONDON

309

Cheyne Row, usually seeing Mary, who was becoming
terribly tired, yet could scarcely be persuaded to have
help in her and her husband's long and sad night
watchings. ' To-morrow night, we shall see,' — was the
usual answer ; ' to-night, we can manage.'

One of the nights our nurse Elizabeth Haddon stayed
at Cheyne Row, going in sometimes to the sick-room.

The newspaper reporters or penny-a-liners used to
ring at the street-door nearly all through the night, but
at last bulletins pinned up abated the nuisance.

On the evening of Friday, February 4, Helen and
I went to Cheyne Row about half-past ten — Mary and
Alick. Helen much wished to stay all night and help
in the watching, but I could not agree to this, as she
was not well herself.

Next morning (Saturday, February 5), a note from
Mary — all was over.

He had lain motionless and, to all appearance,
unconscious for hours, and quietly ceased to breathe
about half-past eight this morning, Mary with him.

I went down about half-past eleven. Went into the
room for a short time. Sad ! sad ! — not wretched ; the
sadness of Humanity.

I looked upon the honoured face, thin, with hoary
hair and beard ; the face of a weary Pilgrim, at the
end of a long journey, arrived and at rest. The large
beautiful eyelids were closed for ever on a pair of eyes
that, whether for carrying messages inwards or outwards,
had scarce met their equals on earth or left such behind.

Helen made two pencil sketches. As we sat in the
parlour the street-door bell rang, and a ' Messenger
from the Queen ' was said to be in the passage ; I
went out at Mary's request, and found a Scotchman
of middle age, who said he was ' sent by the Queen to
inquire after Mr. Carlyle ' ; I told him of the death,
asked him no questions. He may have been John Brown.

A walk as in a dream. How strange all the moving
crowds, all the busy trivialities going on ! No change

310 LONDON 1881

felt on earth or in air. I thought, looking at this
stranger and that, * If I said to you " Carlyle is dead,"
would you care ? '

February 6. — H. and I at Cheyne Row with Mary
and Alick. The Funeral to be entirely private.

March 20. — H. and I to Mrs. Procter's. Lift —
Mrs. and Miss P., Browning, Mr. Theodore Watts.
B. said, ' I never minded what Carlyle said of things
outside his own little circle (drawing a circle in the air
with his forefinger) — what was it to me what he thought
of Poetry or Music } One day I was talking of Keats,
and Carlyle's opinion of him, to Mrs. Carlyle ; she
asked me to lend her something of Keats's, and I brought
her Isabella and The Eve of St. Agnes (I was too knowing
to try her with Endymion). She wrote me a letter —
" Almost any young gentleman with a sweet tooth might
be expected to write such things. Isabella might have
been written by a seamstress who had eaten something
too rich for supper and slept upon her back." Do you
think (B. said) I cared about this more than for the
barking of a little dog ^

' I went with Odo Russell to see Carlyle. C. said,
*'You are British Minister at Rome.^ You ought to
say to the Pope, ' you Infallible Chimera ! We cannot
for a moment listen to you, etc. etc' " Odo heard with
diplomatic calmness. When we went out he said to me,
" What nonsense he did talk." ' (But C. knew well
enough what diplomatic formality requires.)

Watts. — ' I never saw Mr. Carlyle.'

Browning. — ' Then you could not know him. His
personality was most attaching. I shall never get
over it.

' He first made my acquaintance, not I his. I first
saw him at Leigh Hunt's, and very properly sat silent
for my part all the time. When he lectured, I sub-
scribed and went, and coming out one day he spoke to
me, " How do you do, Mr. Browning } " I said I had

i88i WITLEY 311

hardly thought he could recollect me. " O yes, I recol-
lect you very well — will you come and see me ? I live
down in Chelsea."

' I did call, and he told me afterwards that he had on
that occasion conceived an unfavourable opinion of me,
because I wore (what was usual then) a green riding-
coat of cut-away shape. If he had seen me no more
I might have figured in his diary as a kind of sporting-
man in aspect. He was always thoroughly kind to me.'

Browning came down in the lift with us, and we
walked together as far as the corner of Buckingham
Palace. He dined at Tennyson's last night. ' T. in
great force. He said, '' this pair of dress boots is forty
years old." We all looked at them, and I said it was
good evidence of the immortality of the sole.'

Browning also said Carlyle had written him the
most beautiful letter possible — 'among other things
counselling me to give up verse-writing. I have my
own character written by Carlyle, — my wife copied it,
and it's in her handwriting.' "" "^

March 21. — To Cheyne Row — upstairs, into all
the rooms. Everything in place, quiet, unchanged —
with one exception ! — grave, pathetic, venerable.

[In June of this year, 1881, the Allinghams moved
to Sandhills, Witley, in Surrey.

AUingham writes of Sandhills — ' the slope of heather
and gorse, topped with fir-trees, looks far and wide
over the Weald of Surrey and Sussex, Hind-Head, a
mountain-like hill, closing the view on the right hand,
Blackdown in front ; then, as the eye travels eastward,
come the rising grounds near Midhurst and Petworth,
Chanctonbury Ring, with its tuft of trees, called locally
*' The Squire's Hunting-Cap," and on a clear day the
downs near Brighton and Lewes.'

Here the life was quiet and tranquil, and AUingham
had leisure for his own writing and reading.

During July the notes in the diary are of ' days hot
and bright ' — of ' lilies and roses ' — ' buying garden

312 WITLEY 1881

tools ' — ' of walks up the common, in shady lanes.' ' To
Chiddingfold, Village Green, old cottages, hay-field,
evening sun, little church spire — long shadows on the
grass — peaceful, pathetic.']

July 14. — Meet Mary Carlyle and Tommy — Tommy
happy.

July 23. — Dine at Birket Foster's — Keene's sketches,
etc.

August 21. — Sandhills. H. and I to Blackdown
— Foxholes. H. draws. Tennyson and I sit with
her.

Beauty and picturesqueness — T. says, ' take a trim,
snug, unbeautiful house, half ruin it, and you make it
picturesque ; same as to ragged clothes, etc' I argue
that neglect alone will not make a thing picturesque,
there must be beauty in it. For a thing to be absolutely
' beautiful ' it must have regularity. The beauty in a
picturesque neglected object comes from nature regain-
ing her sway over it. T. would not be drawn out of
the commonplaces of the subject.

T. — ' I said to Tyndall, " You can but scratch the
surface of things. You are like a swallow that dips on
the water." He seemed to agree to this.'

T. sitting on the faggot complained of the ' bees '
(flies) being ' as fell as ought.' I said I would break him
a bit of oak, not esh^ and I did so. He said, ' There
was a real farmer in our parts — in Lincolnshire — that
used to say he heard his horse's hooves saying "Propetty !
Propetty ! Propetty ! " His name was Thimbleby.
His wife, when she came into a room, would slap her
pockets and say, " The day I married Thimbleby I
brought him _^5000 on each shoulder ! " '

August 30. — To York [The British Association].

September 3. — Fryston. Breakfast 8.30. Lord
Houghton reads out part of letter from Carlyle to his
wife, written here at Fryston (for which he paid
_^io : I OS.). It begins, 'My dear Bairn,' describes the
Milnes family and life at Fryston. R. M. M.'s sister

i88i WITLEY 313

' about Richard's height, a fair height for a gown.'
Roebuck dined here, ' flew at me over and over again
like a cockatrice, and was duly flung off, more to the
satisfaction of the company than of me,'

Odd to think of this letter coming back here.

Ld, Houghton said, 'when I brought Carlyle here,
we came into this room (the hall). My father, who
was a most courteous man, expressed his great pleasure
at seeing him, and how much he was obliged to me for
bringing him : then, showing his cigar, said, " I hope, Mr.
Carlyle, you don't object to this occupation." C. replied
with emphasis, " I think sir it is a very natural occupa-
tion, and I should like to join in it as soon as possible ! " '

Sunday J October 16. — Sandhills. Very fine — cold
— Carlyle memoranda. I and the children walk to
fir-wood. Buss's Corner, children and nurse return up
path. I sit on log and call out good-byes. In passing
I call and ask Charles Lewes if he will walk ? He has
a cold. He lends me my own Songs, Ballads, etc., the
copy I gave to George Eliot in May 1877.

As I sit on the tree trunk at Buss's Corner I take
out the book and turn its leaves. Up this very path,
on the edge of which I am sitting, George Eliot, G. H.
Lewes and myself walked one fine autumnal afternoon,
September 25, 1878. I had come over from Shere,
where we had a cottage for the season ; called, stayed
for luncheon ; and they both, when I started to walk
home, came with me down their garden, into the little
lane, across the railway line, to this corner where I
sit, over Hambledon Hill, and up the hollow road ;
at the end of which we parted, talking at the last
moment of Carlyle. Sitting on the log and looking
up the path eastwards, I recollect distinctly that just
here we talked of death, and George Eliot said, ' I used
to try to imagine myself dying — how I should feel
when dying, but of course I could not.'

I said that when a child I firmly believed I should
in some way escape dying.

314 WITLEY 1881

George Eliot. — ' You cannot think, of yourself as
dead.'

G. H. Lewes was deeply silent at all this. I sus-
pected him at the time of thinking the topic frivolous and
uninteresting, but now I think he perhaps avoided it as
painful. Charles Lewes has told Helen that his father
could not bear to think of George Eliot's dying first.
That September walk was my last sight of Lewes.
Both are gone. And here I sit turning over my own
book and looking at her pencil markings.

She wrote me a letter, which I have, on receiving
this book. I put it in my pocket and walk on.

Neglected my diary till end of year. Weather
mostly very mild — Periwinkle flowers in garden —
found two primroses in fields. Tennyson and Hallam
called. Sonny showed T. his garden.

At Blackdown. Talk — Browning.

I praised the Russian Scenery of' Ivan Ivanovitch' in
the new volume, remarking that the story was in
substance an old one (a version of it appeared, I think,
in a miscellany called The Mirror).

T. said, * I think the woman was right. The
wolves would have eaten them all. She might have
saved part by what she did.'

T. told me that he had planned out his Arthuriad,
and could have written it all off without any trouble.
But in 1842 he published, with other poems, the ' Morte
d'Arthur,' which was one book of his Epic (though not
really the eleventh), and the review in the Quarterly
disheartened him, so that he put the scheme aside.
He afterwards took it up again, but not as with the
first inspiration. This unlucky article in the Quarterly
was written by John Sterling, who was then thirty-six
years old, just three years older than Tennyson. It
may be interesting now to read what it said of the
' Morte d'Arthur ' : ' The first poem in the second
volume seems to us less costly jewel-work, with fewer
of the broad flashes of passionate imagery, than some

1882 WITLEY 315

others, and not compensating for this inferiority by
any stronger human interest. The miraculous legend
of Excalibur does not come very near to us, and as
reproduced by any modern writer must be a mere
ingenious exercise of fancy. The poem, however, is
full of distinct and striking description, perfectly
expressed, and a tone of mild dignified sweetness
attracts, though it hardly avails to enchant us.'

This, it will be observed, chimes in with the doubts
expressed by the Poet himself in the lines written by
way of prologue. Blame or doubt in regard to his
own writings always weighed more with Tennyson than
praise. He often said that he forgot praise and
remembered all censure.

Sterling's review, meant to be friendly, was a thin
pretentious piece and of no value whatever : a pity it
should have chanced to prove so mis-effectual !

1882

January i . — Sandhills. Last night at a few minutes
before 12 o'clock we, that is Helen and I, with Elizabeth,
Annie, and Sophie, went into the garden ; the sky clear
and starry, with moonlight, weather mild, and heard
the bells of Chiddingfold, some two miles off, ringing
out the Old Year — five bells they sounded like, sweet
and soft. The chime stopped and we shook hands
and wished each other a * Happy New Year ' — then it
began again, and also a distant band. The dear
children are fast asleep — a toy waiting beside each bed.

January 13. — H. and I to Blackdown.

A. T. in study. H. tries to sketch him, but he
wont. * You're staring at me — I can't bear it ! He's
keeping me in talk, it's a plot ! I hate it ! My
back bone is weak ! You mustn't, Mrs. A.'

Autograph hunters — some one applied repeatedly —
he sent ' Ask me no more. — A. Tennyson.'

Tuesday^ February 28. — Lord Houghton struck
with paralysis at Athens — gone, I fear.

3i6 WITLEY 1882

March 4. — Visit Hook, R.A. — friendly and jocular.

[Miss De Morgan came down one day to look for
lodgings — to Tobitt's Farm.]

' Mrs. Tobitt has let her rooms.'

' To an artist 1 ' asks Mary.

' O no, M'", quite a genileman.''

[In the local directory Mr. Birket Foster was
entered as ' Tradesman.']

Thursday, April 20. — Splendid day. Sat in Study
with open window and wrote for P.M.G. ' Foot-paths.'

To-night hear nightingale for first time.

Newspapers — Death of Darwin.

May Day. — Overcast. A few cottage children
came in carrying sticks with flowers tied to them —
neither sung nor spoke, but stood shyly holding their
flower sticks ; got 6d. and went away. A curiously
silent folk, the English peasants. Sonny and Evey
get flower sticks next day.

Abundance of wild flowers, nightingales and cuckoos
heard all night.

May 8. — Murder of Lord F. Cavendish and Mr.
Burke in the Phoenix Park. O wretched country !

Tuesday, May 9.^ — Storm of wind, trees blown
down. Hear of serious illness, then of the death of
Emerson — eighty next month — a calm happy truly
philosophic life. No grief, scarcely sadness, in such
a departure ; but it leaves the world lonelier, and us
the readier to go when our day comes.

June 13. — Walking with William Morris from the
Society of Arts to Bloomsbury last Friday, we talked,
among other things, of believing or not believing in
a God, and he said ' It's so unimportant, it seems to
me,' and he went on to say that all we can get to, do
what we will, is a form of words.

I think we agree in part, not entirely ; but in the
street and in a hurry explanation was impossible.

^ On May i ith Allingham's youngest child, Henry William Allingham,
was born.

1882 WITLEY 317

' Le Sujet de Dieu ' might be called unimportant in
a sense, because, as the French editor said, ' il manque
I'actualite,'

One knows that it is impossible to arrive at any-
thing definite, and those who do not trouble their heads
about the matter can get on as well as other people,
so far as one sees.

It must be remembered, however, that our whole
society is based upon traditionary belief in a God, and,
believe what we will, we continue to get the benefit of
this in many ways. But there are, and always will be,
many people who cannot help asking often and anxiously,
' Is there a God ? — Is there no God ? ' and the sort of
answer that comes home may be highly important to
them and others in its practical results, especially in
certain crises, common to human life, but new and
intensely interesting to each human being. In crises, too,
of national life the subject may have a terrible actuality.
• But this does not justify dogmatism upon it. Here
also I think sincerity best, with oneself and others. I
will have nothing to do with the Church of Rome, or
indeed with any form of Christianity, in spite of all the
beauty and power, all the comforting and controlling
influences, because I know the structure is built on false
dogmas. No verbal Revelation of any date, in any
tongue, has the least authority with me. Nor do I
want a puppet God constructed or kept up because it
may scare some from robbery and revolution, murder
and suicide ; and it seems to me that whoever goes
about to describe or define the Deity, sets up an idol or
puppet, a man's work, whether it be mean as African
fetish or majestic as the Jupiter of Pheidias. We
cannot in the least describe, or comprehend, or even
think Deity. And yet we can believe in Deity, and
that belief is not fantastic, but natural, sound, and
reasonable. There is to me no conception of the
Universe possible save as the dominion of Power and
Wisdom, unfathomably great, yet in sympathy with my

31 8 BROADLANDS 1882

own intelligent nature ; a Greatness presenting itself to
me (when I dare at all to shape it) as a true Personality,
comprising all that man at his best in measured degree
feels, thinks, and is ; and much more.

Almighty God^ — to whom turns my soul, sharing,
I know not how, the mystic divine nature ; whose
reality is indubitable, whose quality is incomprehen-
sible, whose plans are inscrutable. This conception
is in harmony and consistency with my whole moral,
reasonable, and imaginative being. It bears little
talking about, and that only in the choicest moments.
Logic has no hold here. Rhetoric is out of place. I
do not know that I am bound to turn my mind towards
the problem of the universe, or that any one is bound
to send his thoughts outside of his daily life and business.
But my mind does naturally and voluntarily so turn,
and when it does so turn it finds before it the idea
of God^ and therefrom receives a sense of strength and
serenity. Nor is this experience contradicted in the
least by anything that I know, feel, or imagine.

August 23. — To Southampton [British Association].

Tuesday^ August 3 1 . — Broadlands ; Romsey. Lord
and Lady Mount-Temple, Mr. Geo. Russell, M.P.
The Gladstones starting for Stonehenge to join excursion.

I in Lord Palmerston's library for several hours.

Talk about Dizzy — Lord M. said he was in the
House the night Disraeli made his first speech. He
spoke in a florid, hustings style, and the House laughed,
more and more as he went on. He began a sentence —
' I think I see Britannia, with the Cap of Liberty in one

hand, and in the other ' but shouts of laughter

drowned his voice. At last, after a pause, he said, ' It
is useless for me to continue — but the time will come
when you shall hear me,' and he sat down. Every one
heard the concluding words. Mr. Campbell (afterwards
Lord C), who was sitting near him, said in a stage whisper
' Mr. Disraeli, I'm very anxious to know what it was
Britannia had in her other hand,' but received no reply.

ALDWORTH

319

D. was very dressy, with curled hair, and rings worn
over his gkrves. Mr. Russell said that after this Dizzy
began to cultivate the country-gentleman style of speak-
ing, very practical and unadorned, taking for his subjects
the Corn Laws, Hop duties, and so forth.

D.'s family was originally Spanish, of the ancient
house of Lara ; an ancestor changed his name and
abode, and settled at Venice as D'Israeli.

1883

Towards the end of the year.

I have neglected my diary a long while. At the
time it seldom seems worth doing Let me try back.

Mr. George Philip of Liverpool, publisher, came
and lunched with us. He agreed to publish Blackberries
and Day and Night Songs — bought Helen's * Cottage
Garden, Spring.'

I went to Haslemere one day to get names to a
letter to Lord Derby, asking him not to enclose certain
roadsides hereabouts on the property he has lately
bought towards Hindhead. Caught Dr. Tyndall at
station, who signed, saying that Lord Derby told him
himself he intended to do all he could to keep the
beauty of these places unspoilt. Walked up to
Aldworth, saw Hallam, then Tennyson, who signed.

T. — ' I don't know whether you can help me ' —
taking a book off the table — ' I'm not satisfied with
this ' — then he read —

Low-flowing breezes are roaming the broad valley dimm'd in the
gloaming.

W. A. — ' That's a very old favourite of mine — hope
you won't alter it.'

T. — ' Some of the things don't seem to agree with the
time spoken of.'

W. A. — ' The total effect is harmonious. It's like a
landscape in an old Italian picture.'

T. — ' I know : but I fear the water-gnats are not
right : they would not be out so late.'

320 ALDWORTH 1883

I suggested transposing the line —

Over the pools in the burn water-gnats murmur and mourn —

SO as to bring it in earlier in the piece, which need not
be supposed to show one moment merely, but a deepen-
ing twilight. He tried this in several ways then put it
by for further consideration, and came out upon Black-
down and saw the close of one of these strange rich
volcanic sunsets, now in our skies — floating ghost,
perhaps, of a mountain blown to atoms. He spoke of
Edward FitzGerald — had not seen him for years before
his death ; FitzGerald could not be got to visit.

' But no sort of quarrel ? '

' O no ! fancy my quarrelling with dear old Fitz ! '

We talked a little about the steam voyage with
Gladstone.

' Why did you read " The Grandmother " to the
great folk ? '

T. — ' The Princess of Wales asked for it ; she had
heard Mrs. Greville read it. I read it in a cabin on
deck ; the Princess sat close to me on one side and a
young lady whom I didn't know on the other. The
wind came through an open window and the Princess
whispered "Put on your hat" — but I said I ought if
possible to make myself balder than ever before so
many Royalties ! She said again, " Oh put it on ! "
so I did, and I heard afterwards that the King of
Denmark's Court-Fool who was in the background
(they really keep a Court-Fool) remarked, " He may
be Laureate, but he has not learnt Court manners."

' When I was done the ladies praised me, and I patted
the unknown one on the back by way of reply, and
presently I found out she was the Empress of Russia.'

' Had you any talk with the Czar ? '

' Hardly any — he said he couldn't speak English.
Perhaps he was disgusted at my patting his wife on the
back. His head was up in the cabin ceiling as he
walked about below.'

1883 WITLEY 321

Tennyson said the finest thing he saw on the voyage
was one night as he stood at the bow of the great
steamer and saw, as it were, the whole sea rushing
past like an immeasurable river to some unknown gulf.

We came to Sussex Gate, as I call it, " on the
boundary of the two counties. ' Come into Surrey,' I
said ; ' No, I can't,' says he, ' but I'll strike the gate-
post with my stick ; I generally do — like Johnson
with the posts in Fleet Street.' So we parted. I went
on to Mr. Hodgson's, who signed the letter,

August. — William De Morgan came. Argument
about Genius — he thought it meant inspiration, as by
a familiar spirit or demon,

September 1 2. — We dined at Pinewood, Sir Henry and
Lady Holland, etc. — Irish Members, South Africa.

[There was also an interesting evening at Mr. (now
Sir Robert) Hunter's, where the AUinghams met Mr.
and Mrs. Henry Fawcett.]

The Poynters at Bowler's Green : our intercourse
was pleasant and friendly.

Caldecott looks in from hunting, his mare having
cast a shoe.

Charles Keene calls — we walk. He speaks of
Edward FitzGerald — odd — dressed roughly — disliked
London. ' You fellows in clubs and so on praise each
other's things, poor as they may be ! ' F. went with K.
to a studio, and after coming away asked, ' Why did you
say " very nice " ^ You know you didn't like them.'

K. once sent him a little sketch out of his pocket-
book of some cottages near Woodbridge. F. returned
it with the remark, ' I could do as well myself.' He
kept a Commonplace Book of extracts, Haljf-hours with
the Worst Authors. K. hopes it will be published. ' F.
had his favourite murders, and I had mine,'

I read to Sonny and Evey The Tempest, Midsr. Night's
D., As Tou Like It (the plot of the last much strained),

John, Mayor of Waterford (for 1884) : goes to
Parnell Banquet.

CHAPTER XX

1884

[Early in this year the Allinghams spent some weeks
at Hampstead, near to Mrs. Paterson (Mrs. Ailing-
ham's Mother) and her son and daughter. There are
notes of visits to many old friends in Town, — and of
a night at the Corner House, Shortlands, with Mr. and
Mrs. George Craik.]

March 23. — Sandhills. The 'Forward Oak' is be-
ginning to show a green top about this time.

March 26. — H. and I to the Evans's — Miss Kate
Greenaway.

Sunday^ March 30. — Mild. With Sonny and Sissy
down Haselmere Lane and into * Primrose Land ' —
copse abounding in primroses, wood -anemones, some
violets — wood-spurge sprouting. Home with basket of
flowers.

Wednesday^ April 2. — Fine. Visitors — Mrs. and
Miss Mangles, Mrs. Hunter, Mr. Burdon.

The wallflowers now are rich, germander speedwells
fine blue.

April 3. — Pruning currant-bushes. Walk with
Sonny and Evey, Brook Road, little common. Skirt
Banacle Copse, violets, stitchwort. Ants.

June. — I low in spirits : the going over and in part
burning old letters and papers very doleful and trying.

Have I been half kind enough, or grateful enough,
or' humble enough } How much kindness and friend-
ship I have received !

322

.^.^lain^h^

^ii ill t<i in . lllutaluun

.'-9iviii ,1 /rah-rcc/oiii .ikrh/i

1884 WITLEY 323

Nine years of subediting and editing Fraser^ and
what a list of people I have offended for life, by
declining their contributions or in other ways ! My
name was known in connection with the Magazine,
and people applied to me personally and took personal
offence, even when J. A. F. was the really responsible
person. Enough of it !

June 25. — Helen and I by invitation to the wedding
of Hallam and Miss Audrey Boyle. The T. party
were in our train in another carriage. We met at
Waterloo Station. We in hansom to Dean's Yard —
take our places in Henry VII. 's Chapel. Enter old
Mrs. Procter and daughter, who sat next us ; Lord
Houghton, Mr. Lewis Morris, Mr. Matthew Arnold,
Lecky, etc. Browning up in a Stall ; he caught my eye
and gave a friendly wink. Tennyson came in, cool
and self-possessed, with Mrs. F. Locker on his arm.
Lady Tennyson, supported by Lionel.

Ceremony. Then we all moved out slowly to the
Deanery. Caldecott joined us in the aisle. Lecky,
Mrs. Lecky, etc., etc. We had little more than a
glimpse of the Bride — Happiness to them ! worthy
young people, they deserve it.

A shakehands with Dean Bradley, who asks me
to find him a cottage in our neighbourhood to run
down to.

In the Chapel we had just in front of us, and spoke
to, T.'s sisters, Matilda — always most simple, friendly,
and a pleasure to talk to — and Mrs. Lushington, whom
we know but from one evening together at Dover.
Mr. Lushington, after all these years, recollected me
well and some talk we had together (which I have
forgotten) — he looks little older, and bears his age like
a cheerful wise man.

JVitley, July 26. — After much urging from H. (I
have always a rooted belief that people don't really
want to see me) I went to Haslemere to-day : cool
with showers : and walked up to Aldworth, arriving

324 ALD WORTH 1884

about 3 P.M. Found an arch in Avenue, 'Welcome
Home' — so the Bride and Bridegroom are back.
' Lady Tennyson ' — ' Yes sir,' — on her sofa, sweet, pale
and friendly.

Enter Hallam, looking stouter and face broadened.
He tries his Father's door. ' Come in,' and there was
T., just wakened from his usual nap — glad to see me,
and says, ' I've done an Irish poem and I want you to
help me with the brogue. But you're from the North.'

I told him I knew various Irish brogues — had he
chosen any one in particular .?

'No.'

He took up Carleton's Traits and Stories, which he
was reading for the first time (to get up the brogue),
and was delighted with, all the more for its caricature.
Then he produced the MS. of ' Molly Maghee ' (I asked
him to strike out the ' h '), and we spent about an hour
over it. First Tennyson read the piece to me, I com-
menting on it ; then I read it to him, he looking over
my arm the while. Aubrey de Vere gave him the
subject, as a fact — the body of a man drowned in a
bog-hole found undecayed after forty years or so. His
old sweetheart recognises him and drops down ' dead
on the dead.' The same incident is told of a Cornish
miner, and I published a prose story upon it in Leigh
Hunt's Journal. Hamilton Aide has a poem on the
same subject. I suggested many corrections in the
brogue, and some in other points. I told T. the Irish
would not like it, but he didn't see why not.

I am pressed to stay for dinner, and then to stay the
night — consent, and send telegram to Helen. Then
T. and I, in rain, make a little run in the copses to a
new summer-house with a writing-table and pens, and
a vista cut in front to see the vast view of the weald,
etc. Dinner at 6.30. Stay a Httle with Lady T. and
Hallam : then drawing-room, where T. at table close to
window with Mrs. Hallam — wine and strawberries.

He thinks England is entering on gloomy times —

1884 ALD WORTH 325

perhaps coming to the end of her grandeur and glory.
* Goschen feels the same — is much depressed about it,
the Lord Chancellor too. I voted for the Franchise to
avoid worse things.'

I said I wished he had voted against Pigeon Torture.

Hallam. — 'So do I.'

T. said nothing, but I stuck to the subject.

' Hope you'll vote for the Bill next time.'

' Don't think I'll ever go into the House again,'

' Well, you can pair.'

' Lecky says the Irish want a despot,' and T. agrees.

' The English are not poetical or musical or clever
— they're very stupid and heavy — but they are for
reasonable and constitutional liberty, that a man should
have his own opinion without being knocked on the
head for it. In Ireland, if I don't agree with a man,
he shoots me or knocks my brains out ! I never knew
a rational Irishman in my life ! except you ' (this
sounded very parenthetical), ' and you don't care a pin
for the grand Empire of England. You ought to be
proud surely to be part of it. There you are, with an
English name, English in every way, but you happened
to be born in Ireland, therefore you are for it.'

I pleaded that I was more impartial than most
people ; ' if I were Nationalist I might be popular in
Ireland and perhaps get into Parliament if I liked.
My brother was offered a seat for Waterford free of
cost.'

T. — ' I hate to think of Ireland. Here they are,
after 700 years raging and roaring.'

W. A. — ' A most unlucky country ! ' (to which
Hallam agreed). ' Suppose England tried leaving them
to themselves.'

T.— ' Civil War ! '

W. A. — ' Then let them settle it. England would
be able to take care of herself.'

T. — ' Ireland might join with France against
England.'

326 ALDWORTH 1884

W. A. — ' Another plan : take away all franchise and
representation from Ireland for seven years, letting her
manage her local affairs as she pleases.'

T. — ' They would roar incessantly. I hate speaking
of it ! ' (da capo).

T. was shocked to hear of William Morris's
Democratic Socialism, and asked to see a copy of Justice.
(Morris's Justice^ I partly agree with and partly detest.
It is incendiary and atheistic, and would upset every-
thing. How about America, which started a hundred
years ago as a democracy with almost ideal advantages ?
I want reforms and thorough-going ones, but not by
the hands of atheists and anarchists.)

By the evening post came a packet from ' O. Weber,'
Copenhagen, asking Lord Tennyson to present the
enclosed MS. translation into Danish of his splendid
dramas The Cup and The Falcon to H.R.H. the Prin-
cess of Wales.

Sunday^ July 27. — Aldworth. About eleven T. and
I came out to walk, first to the stables, where he
unchained a Deerhound, a black Setter and two smaller
dogs, then with these on Blackdown — along road,
returning by Chase Farm uphill through planta-
tions.

Poetry — Browning : ' one is constantly aware of the
greatness of the man, yet somehow baulked of satis-
faction.

' He offered me the subject of The Ring and the
Book. " My Last Duchess " is very fine.'

As he stood looking at the pond by Chase Farm,
I spoke of Ruskin's essay on versification, and his
selection of Coleridge as the exemplar of a bad Versifier,
and of these lines from 'Christabel ' as an example of bad
verse —

But vainly thou warrest,

For this is alone in
Thy power to declare,

That in the dim forest
Thou heard'st a low moaning,

1884 ALDWORTH 327

And found'st a bright lady, surpassingly fair ;

And did'st bring her home with thee in love and in charity,

To shield her and shelter her from the damp air.

* Nobody,' I said, ' but a true and heaven-born Metrist

could have written that — 'twas like a legato passage on

the violin, flowing through from beginning to end with

one bow.' T. did not entirely agree. He objected to —

Did'st bring her home with thee in love and in charity.

I said the whole passage had an air of spontaneous-
ness, of naivety, and this to me was the last perfection
of poetry.

T. — * The last perfection is the wild and wonder-
ful—

Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam,
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.'

W. A. — ' Coleridge was a great poet. — Well, he
was an endless talker, but not a bothering one ; 'twas
like a fountain running, you went away from it when
you pleased. He did not care about convincing or
converting or convicting you.'

T. — * Ruskin's dictum is not to be relied on.'

W. A. — ' Especially on poetry. He printed a volume
of poems of his own ; but that (he wrote to me once) is
" the disgrace of whatever faculty I possess." — Recently
he has republished his Oxford Prize Poem on the
*' Caves of Elephanta " — entirely worthless.'

When on the upper road, looking over the gate
where you see the Valewood ponds below, we still spoke
of poetry.

' One believes in a poet,' I said, ' whose lines are
perpetually coming into one's mind. Yours do with
me.'

T. — ' Repeat a line.'

W. A. — ' Dozens, if you like.'

T. — ' I was praising one of Rogers's poems to him
once and he said, " Repeat a passage — ha, you can't,"
and I couldn't at the moment.'

32 8 ALDWORTH 1884

W. A. — ' Well, that's barley, not wheat, but here's a
line it brings to my mind —

And waves of shadow went over the wheat.

' After the thunder-storm the other day, as many a
time before, I repeated to myself —

Sweet after showers, ambrosial air,

That rollest from the gorgeous gloom
Of evening '

T. interrupted me and, as he spoke, stood still and
faced me (a custom of his) —

' You can't say it so sweetly as I can "! ' and repeated
the whole stanza, and on, to ' the round of space.'

I always rejoice to hear him recite.

* It all goes together,' said he.

' Yes,' said I, ' especially when you sit down to the
organ. You won't listen to me and so I hurry.'

As we turned down Pack Horse Lane, T. spoke of
Eternal Punishment as an obsolete belief.

I said, ' At Witley Station hangs on the wall a large
book of Bible Texts, one page for each day of the
month. To-day I read — " All the dead shall arise, the
righteous to eternal life, the wicked to everlasting
damnation." '

T. — ' It's not a right translation.'

W. A. — ' But it's the authoritative teaching of the
Church.'

T. — ' Have you read Farrar's book } '

W. A. — ' I never read such books.'

T. — ' Oh, but here he proves from original sources
that no such doctrine existed in the early days of
Christianity.'

I told T. that Bishop Wilberforce was very proud of
having saved the Athanasian Creed when the Arch-
bishop of Canterbury was for giving it up, which
interested him.

' Did he ? My father (I think it was his father)
would never read the Athanasian Creed.'

1884 ALD WORTH 329

As we entered the back wicket and went along the
shady little walk to the house T. said, ' You're not
orthodox, and I can't call myself orthodox. Two
things however I have always been firmly convinced
of,- — God, — and that death will not end my existence.'

W. A.—' So I believe.'

T. (stopping and turning round) — ' Do you hold
these ? '

W. A.—' I do.'

He was going up for his usual sleep, and asked me
not to go till he came down again about half-past three.
So I sat and read in the middle parlour. Then went
up and found him just after wakening. He came out,
unloosed the dogs again, and walked with me along the
road till we met Mrs. Hodgson coming to call. T.
asked me to turn back, but I took leave and walked
off to Witley, glad to have seen so much of the dear
man, and sad not to see more.

August 2. — Warm — with breeze. H., I and Sonny
and Evey to Godalming, by invitation, to the Wallaces,^
Frith Hill, beside the Water Tower. Hot climb. Mr.
and Mrs. Wallace in garden. Willy, Violet — children
race about.

W. shows us round his garden — rare plants and
flowers — little ' Californian tulip,' light yellow, three
petals — green hairs inside — Canadian lily — Flowers of
one day. Eucalyptus, three kinds, very tender.

Sit with Wallace under tree and talk a long while
on Spiritualism, apparitions, mediums, etc.—' the Cock
Lane Ghost was real (as Johnson believed), but they
teased the girl into imposture at last.' He said about
one person in ten, probably, is a medium.

He spoke with unqualified praise of every book and
writer on the spiritualistic side — William Howitt,
Professor De Morgan, Professor Barrett, F. W. H.
Myers, etc. — showed us, in a magazine, drawings done
by thought-readers. He gave an account, essentially

1 Mr. Alfred Russell Wallace.

330 ALDWORTH 1884

Swedenborgian, of the state of spirits in the next world
— but he does not take Swedenborg for a prophet.

I told him of my mentally seeing The Times with a
black border one morning before I went into the room
where it lay. It was for Prince Leopold's death. He
asked do I usually ' visualise ' the things I think of ?
' Yes, always.' ' I do not at all (he said) — my mind has
only thoughts.' Then spoke of Galton's division of all
minds into the visualising and the non-visualising class.

August 4. — To Lythe Hill, Mrs. Stewart Hodgson's
— Roomful — Corney Grain performing. Lord
Tennyson, Hallam, Mrs. Hallam, Mr. Buckton, Mr.
Macmillan, Wife and Daughter, Mrs. Pratt, etc. Mrs.
Hunter drives us to station, and asks us to dine on
Saturday.

Thursday^ August 7. — A hot day. Helen and I all
the afternoon at Aldworth. Various visitors and
callers, so I had little talk with T.

Some numbers of Justice — Democrat Socialist paper
which I lent him — made him ' vomit mentally,' he said.
He would agree to the heavy taxing of large incomes
if it could be done. I told him about Alfred Wallace,
whom we visited last Saturday, and Spiritualism.
Wallace a thorough-going believer — but has had no
experiences himself. Also, he never visualises his
thoughts. I suggested that to such a man the mere
visualising power of some other minds might appear
supernatural, he having nothing like it in his experience.

T. — ' I said long ago, " A poet never sees a Ghost." '

Still, he is most anxious to believe in ghosts.

' As to visualising,' he said, * I often see the most
magnificent landscapes.'

' In dreams ? '

'Yes, and on closing my eyes. To-day when I
lay down I saw a line of huge wonderful cliffs rising
out of a great sweep of forest — finer than anything in
nature.'

Other gifts he has, but T. is especially and pre-

ALDWORTH

33^

eminently a landscape-painter in words, a colourist, rich,
full and subtle.

He has, latently, a very practical side to his
character, and in using this his profound quietude of
temperament and manner helps im.mensely.

We talked of Carlyle. T. said, ' He used to tell
me, " You must do this — You mustn't do that " —
but I never minded him in the least. I repeated some
of Marvell's lines about Holland to Carlyle —

They with mad labour fished the land to shore —

but he saw no humour in them, and said it was wrong
to ridicule a serious diligent Nation.'

Mem. — Tennyson read Baudelaire's Fleurs du Mal^
and thought him ' a kind of moralist,' though his
subjects, he allowed, are shocking. I could not agree
(and had, I think, studied Baudelaire more closely) ;
he seems to me to take pleasure in seeing evil com-
mitted, and also in seeing evil-doers punished — a devil
rather than a moralist.

September 8. — H. and I to Aid worth. In the draw-
ing-room we find Lady Tennyson — then T. comes in.
His two little grandsons run in. Tennyson went to
his bedroom and returned with a soap-dish and piece
of soap, which he rubbed into a lather, and proceeded
to blow bubbles, himself much delighted with the
little crystal worlds and their prismatic tints — ' Never
was anything seen so beautiful ! You artists (to H.)
can't get such colours as these.'

The children jumped and laughed, and we fanned
the bubbles to the ceiling and watched them burst in
various parts of the room. Then T., inverting his
pipe, blew up a magic cluster of diamond domes on the
saucer, which rolled over and wetted his knees, till we
put a newspaper to save him. Next he took his trusty
tobacco pipe, lighted it and blew opaque bubbles which
burst with a tiny puff of smoke, like shells over a
besieged fortress.

332 ALDWORTH 1884

I said, ' Do you remember Vivier, the French horn-
player, doing that in Tom Taylor's garden ? '

T. — ' I was just thinking of that.'

We were asked more than once to stay, but hurried
off to the train.

September. — After the hot summer, rain — then fine
autumnal weather.

The Oulesses at Grayswood : walks and calls.

Thursday^ November 6. — Tennyson wished me to
bring Mr. Alfred R. Wallace to visit him. It was
arranged that W. and I should go over to-day. Mr.
Wallace came by the 12.35 train from Godalming,
and Helen and I (she specially invited by Hallam)
joined at Witley. At Haslemere we found Hallam
with a pony-carriage.

T. ' not well ' — looking languid and rather sad.

At luncheon, talk about the tropic woods : Wallace
said you would find one kind of tree in flower for
about a week, and at another time another kind of
tree in flower for a short time, but you might come
again and again and find no flowers at all ; there were
never in the Tropics such masses of floral colour as in
an English Spring.

T. was disappointed at this, and asked about the
trailing plants. W. called them ' glorious,' but more
for the rich drapery than the colours. The palm-tops
are mostly a grayish green.

We digressed to novels. Mr. W. (rather to my
surprise) reads ' a good many in the course of the
year,' but does not hurry over them. He and Hallam
exchanged names of novels to be ordered from the
Circulating Library, Lord Tennyson being an incessant
novel-reader. While we were speaking of woods
etc. T. said, ' Bayard Taylor, who has been everywhere,
said the most beautiful sight he ever saw was a wood in
Lapland covered with frozen rain and the sun shining
on it.'

Also, ' Sir Robert Kane said the most awful thing

i884 ALD WORTH 333

he ever experienced was the absolute silence of an
Arctic winter.'

Mr. Wallace, Hallam and I went round the grounds,
looking at various conifers.

To the Study. W. gave details of table-rapping,
table-prancing, and so forth, his own experiences and
other people's. He never doubts any statement what-
ever in favour of ' Spiritualism,' and has an answer to
every objection. ' Maskelyne and Cooke do wonderful
things.' — * Yes, partly by the help of mediumship.'

' The " Spirits " often give foolish and misleading
answers.' — ' Yes, as might be expected ; that only
proves them to be human beings.'

' Why noises and motions of tables ? Why these
particular "Mediums"?' — 'Such are the conditions;
why, we do not know.'

W. said it was absurd to suppose that Matter could
move itself. I ventured to remark that Matter, so far
as we can penetrate, does move itself, indeed is per-
petually in motion.

He rejoined that in table-rapping etc. the phe-
nomena were manifestly governed by an intelligence like
our own. The means of communication between the
Unseen World and ours were few and difficult.

Here Tennyson said, 'A great ocean pressing round us
on every side, and only leaking in by a few chinks ' ? —
of which Wallace took no notice, but went on to describe
instances of spirit-writing on slates, by Slade and others.

(I fear my tone all through was hardly respectful to
the spirits.)

Somehow or other a sudden digression was made to
politics, and W. came out with a strong opinion of the
worthlessness of the House of Lords and the absurdity
of the hereditary principle.

T. said, ' I think I respect it more than the other
House.'

W. — ' The other House wants reforming very badly,
no doubt.'

334 ALD WORTH 1884

The Duke of Marlborough was mentioned. Wallace
denounced the purchase of his Raphael with the public
money as ' scandalous ' — would not buy any pictures
or works of art with the taxpayers' money — ' let wealthy
men buy and present them to the nation if they think
fit/

Egypt somehow came in, and Wallace thought we
ought to leave the Mahdi alone. He is perhaps a great
man, and at all events we know no harm of him.

T. — * I know no good of him.'

W. A. — ' Would you not like to see the Nile ? '

T. — ' I'd much rather see tropical nature, but now I
never shall.'

And then he questioned W. again about tropical
scenery, producing a poem in MS., from which he read
two or three lines about palms and purple seas. He
wanted to know if the palm-trees could be seen rising
distinct above the rest of the forest.

W. — ' Yes, on a hill-side.'

* What colour are they } '

' Rather light — gray-green.'

' Is an expanse of tropical forest dark, seen from
above ? '

' Not particularly ; less so than an English wood-
land.'

T. — ' Then I must change the word " dark." '

He writes his poetry now in trim small quarto
books, in limp covers, the writing as neat as ever, tho'
sometimes a little shaky. He keeps these books handy
and takes them up very often, both at set times and
odd moments, considering and correcting, and frequently
reading new poems aloud from them, first to his family
and afterwards to visitors. After the compositions are
put into type he usually keeps them by him in proof
for a long time, months or even years, reconsidering
and perfecting every part.

T. referred with praise to Wallace's book. Tropical
Nature, and remarked, ' You have said something very

1884 ALDWORTH 335

bold about Matter ? I think Matter more mysterious
than Spirit. I can conceive, in a way, what Spirit is,
but not Matter.'

W. — ' I conceive Matter not as a substance at all,
but as points of energy^ and that if these were withdrawn
Matter would disappear.'

T. said this was something like his own notion.

W. — ' So far from a material atom being indestruc-
tible, I believe that all the Matter in existence might be
immediately destroyed by the withdrawal of the sustain-
ing Force.'

Tuesday^ November 25. — On a sudden impulse I
walked up from Sandhills about 3 o'clock, to call at
Aldworth, the roads greasy with a thaw, ice on pools.
On Blackdown met Hallam, and then Tennyson.
They hospitably determined that I was to stay the night,
and would telegraph to Witley accordingly. They had
come along the road to meet Miss Ritchie coming from
London, who soon appeared, and we walked to the
house together. In the ante-room, Miss Matilda and
tea, and we all looked at a large coloured caricature,
' The Tower of Babel,' with portraits of peers, M.P.'s,
etc. etc.

Miss R. said, ' What a pity Mr. Gladstone sees so
many sides of a subject.'

T. — ' No, that he doesn't do — he cannot see all
round a thing. Bacon could. Bacon says, "It were
good if men in their innovations would follow the
example of Time itself, which indeed innovateth
greatly, but quietly, and by degrees scarce to be
perceived." '

I said, ' Yes, but we ought not to wait to be forced
on.'

T. rejoined, ' Bacon says that too,' and went on to
complain of the crude and dangerous haste of modern
Reformers.

(Bacon's Essays^ by the way, are mostly bundles of
antitheses, and offer weapons to opposite combatants.)

336 ALDWORTH 1884

In the evening Tennyson questioned me again about
Irish brogue, ' How do they pronounce " door " ? '

I answer, like ' boor ' : ' floor ' sometimes thus, and
sometimes with a sharper u — hke ' flute.'

T. has rhymed ' door ' to ' asthore ' in his Irish poem,
and is uneasy in his mind about it, notwithstanding
Aubrey de Vere's thinking it all right.

In * Mary Donnelly ' I have —

When she stood up for dancing her steps were so complete
The music nearly killed itself to listen to her feet —

but I avoid writing brogue, and leave it to the speaker
or singer. An Irishman could read these lines without
a jar in the rhymes and at the same time without saying
' complate ' in a broadly vulgar manner. But T. insists
on the brogue all through his piece ; it's a brogue
poem, and the rhymes ought to help emphatically.

Hallam showed me his father's lines in the St. James's
Gazette about the cataract. T. coming to us, said it
was a cataract like those on the Nile (not precipitous),
the river is supposed to divide round an island. The
first word, printed ' Statesman,' he has altered into
' Steersman.'

We spoke of Gladstone's oratory : I said I thought
Brougham's (whom I heard two or three times) the
most like it in practised verbosity and the long sentences
out of which the speaker wound himself at last without
a break — few memorable passages in either case.

Tennyson is very fond of Gladstone as a private
friend.

Then spoke of Carlyle : Froude's quotation of the
bitterness against Gladstone. I told Carlyle's saying
about Dizzy : ' I wonder how long John Bull will
allow this Jew to dance on his belly ! ' which amused
Tennyson.

T. or Hallam said that Gladstone (his own account)
gave Carlyle offence at Rogers's table by refusing to
agree in Carlyle's estimate of Goethe, and C. never

1884 ALDWORTH 337

forgave him. Gladstone laughed at the description of
himself as ' the contemptiblest man.'

T. thinks Byron's morals ought not to be considered
in judging his poetry. ' Unless they come into his
poetry ' (I maintain), and they certainly do. But it is
less as voluptuary than as sneerer that I can't bear Lord
Byron. T. thinks he was perhaps the cleverest man of
his time. The more shame for him to be what he was.

Byron was just before T.'s time, so there are no
personal feelings one way or other such as are almost
inevitably mixed with contemporary estimates.

W. A. — ' Did you ever meet Coleridge ? '

T. — ' No, I was asked to visit him, but I wouldn't.'

W. A. — ' Coleridge was a " noticeable man, with
large gray eyes." '

T.— ' Oh yes.'

We talked a good deal about metres — nothing new.
T. brought on again the question of the rhymes in his
Irish piece.

I said, ' Have Maria (an Irish housemaid here) and
try her with them.'

T. on this told us a little story — ' A Suffolk vicar
going into a parishioner's cottage found a Catholic
engraving on the wall, the Virgin with St. Joseph on
one side and St. Somebody else on the other. The
woman of the house had got it by some chance.'

' Did she know what it meant .'' '

' Well, yes, she'd made it out : *' There's the young
woman, and two men making up to her, and the one
man he says to t'other at last, ' 'Ave Maria i ' That's
what's wrote up, you see, sir." '

Miss Ritchie played us some Beethoven finely. At
Hallam's request she tried Edward FitzGerald's music
(MS.) to ' Locksley Hall,' but found it amateurish in
structure.

Next day, wonderfully fine, T. started at his usual
time (11.30) for a walk. Miss Ritchie, Hallam and I
with him, and two dogs. We went by Chase Farm,

338 ALDWORTH 1884

fine yellow russets still on the woods. T. stopped us
to see the white doves on the outhouse. Then on the
western ridge of Blackdown, looking over Valewood,
Lynchmere, etc., mistily rich, hills folded on hills. In
the foreground some bushes of gorse in good bloom.
T. went up to one taller than himself, covered with
new golden blossoms, and stood looking at it : I have
the picture in my mind.

Speaking of the new Franchise Bill, Miss R. said,
* I suppose there's no country where the people care
so much for politics as in England ^ '

T. — ' I hate politics ! I'm for the Empire, but I
hate politics. The Queen said to me, " / hate politics,"
and no wonder she does. As to this Bill, I don't
believe the people care anything about it.'

In the evening Miss Tennyson reminded Alfred of
the stories he used to tell his brothers and sisters.
One called ' The Old Horse ' lasted for months.

December 5. — A fine day. H. and I to Blackdown.
We found her last year's point of view, and she sat
courageously for two hours sketching in the cold, for
'twas an eager air tho' the sun shone. An immense
level of thin cloud stretched moveless from north
to south over the great Sussex landscape — green fields,
houses, villages, stood forth in the sunlight ; clear,
remote, all silent ; near at hand a bold sweeping slope
of rusty fern, gorse clumps coming into Christmas
blossom, mixed with a few hollies and stunted firs.

On the next ridge, a mile off or so as the crow
flies, push up through sheathing woods the gray stone
chimneys and blue roofs of the Poet's mansion, looking
this way with an upper window or two. Then far and
wide the map-like prospect from Haslemere and Leith
Hill to the South Downs. I walked to the south end of
Blackdown, glorious views ; came back with a chimney-
sweeper who was taking a short-cut to Haslemere and
complained that the farmers do not know the value of
soot for land.

1884 ALDWORTH 339

Found H. very cold, but working still ; and away
we walked to Aldworth to find her a cup of tea.
On the road we met T. himself, most friendly, who
turned back with us and left H. in charge of his Sister ;
then he came out again and finished his walk in my
company.

T. — ' I'm an old fellow and must exercise. One
may do without it in youth, but not in age.'

W. A. — ' Carlyle used to praise London for afford-
ing night walks in winter.'

T.— ' I can't walk in London by night. The lights
dazzle me.'

We spoke of William Morris (from whom I had
just had a long letter).

T. said, ' He has gone crazy.' I said I agreed with
many of Morris's notions. Labour does not get its
fair share.

T. — ' There's brain labour as well as hand labour.'

W. A. — ' And there are many who get money with-
out any labour. The question, how to hinder money
from accumulating into lumps, is a puzzhng one.'

T. — ' You must let a man leave money to his children.
I was once in a coffee-shop in the Westminster Road
at 4 o'clock in the morning. A man was raging
" Why has So-and-So a hundred pounds, and I haven't a
shilling ? " I said to him, " If your father had left you
^100 you wouldn't give it away to somebody else."
He hadn't a word to answer. I knew he hadn't.'

T. said, ' It's a very strange thing that, according to
Wallace, none of the Spirits that communicate with
men ever mention God, or Christ.'

I said I always felt that the Deity was infinitely above
us. Another step will bring us no nearer.

T. — ' Wallace says the system he believes in is a
far finer one than Christianity : it is Eternal Progress —
I have always felt that there must be somewhere Some
one iz)ho knows — that is, God. But I am in hopes that I
shall find something human in Him too.

340 ALDWORTH 1884

' Gladstone and Tyndall were sitting at my table,
Gladstone on my right hand, Tyndall on my left.
Tyndall began talking in his loose way about " This
Poem — or Poetic Idea — God." Gladstone looked at
him and said with severity, " Professor Tyndall, leave
God to the Poets and Philosophers, and attend to your
own business." Tyndall fell quite silent for several
minutes.'

Dinner — T. in good spirits and humour ; compares
the cheese to Alpine scenery. I quote Marcus Aurelius
about the inequalities of a loaf.

T. — ' C. C. would say I plagiarised from Marcus
Aurelius. Some one has said that " As the husband
is the wife is " is evidently from Scott. " The wife
takes her husband's rank." '

Lady Tennyson came down to dinner, very pale —
spoke and was spoken to little, went upstairs again, almost
carried by Hallam. A dear, almost angelic woman.

We were quoting odd and rough verses when the
pony-carriage came — and William drove us rapidly to
the station, feeling happy with our friendly visit.

[There is a note of an evening at Aldworth when]
Tennyson was amusing in his vehement denunciation
of the old Tory aristocracy of his boyhood — the
' county families ' — their pride, prejudice, narrowness,
and bitter partisanship. ' At a public ball at Lincoln
the Whig families would sit by themselves on one side
of the room, Tory on the other, noticing each other as
little as possible. But the youth of each sometimes
danced together in the middle. Two ladies of opposite
politics found themselves on the same sofa and avoided
each other mutually as much as they might without
turning their backs. But the curiosity of one lady
induced her to take up a piece of the gorgeous flowing
dress of her neighbour to look at it more closely, when
she thought the owner's head was turned away. Round
comes the rival lady's face with a sneering smile upon
it : " Madam, if you'll allow me, I'll send you my

1884 WITLEY 341

mantua- maker's bill to look at. . . ." We are
certainly better-off in manners nowadays ! '

Charles Keene at Birket Foster's for Christmas —
calls one day. We walk by Park Lane, Bowler's Green,
and Screw Corner. ' Loud smells not unwholesome.'
C. K. himself has, he tells me, very little sense of smell
— and no topographical faculty. His visit to a knacker's
yard. Edward FitzGerald — Ed, F. used to call the
critics ' a case of monkeys ' — had a boy to read aloud
to him every day (in a strong Suffolk brogue) while
he lay on a chair and smoked.

December. — Carlyle's Life. Melancholy book. F.
has manipulated his materials cunningly.

[A few words may be said here of the relations —
always cordial — between Allingham and his family and
old friends in Ireland. There was a regular, if not
very frequent correspondence, and little gifts were ex-
changed at the end of the year. His sister Catherine's
letters from Ballyshannon were always interesting to
Allingham — though sad, too, for they came to be
mainly records of the deaths of those he had known
there. Visitors from ' the old country ' always had a
warm welcome.

At this time — 1884 — were living John, Catherine,
Jane : and, of the second family, Edward, Hugh, and
Lizzie.

Now — 1907 — of these are left only John and Hugh.

John at Waterford, with Wife, Son, and Daughter.

Hugh and his Daughters, at Ballyshannon, where he
is in his Father's place as Manager of the Provincial
Bank of Ireland.

Hugh Allingham is the author of an unpretentious
little book, Ballyshannon, its History and Antiquities ; he
is now busy on a more extended local history, in the
researches for which he had valuable help from his
late Wife.

Sons and Daughters of Mrs. Johnston (Sister Jane)
are living and prospering in various places.]

CHAPTER XXI

1885-1886

[The life at Sandhills went on much as usual during the
spring and summer of 1 885. The Tennysons had spent
the winter at Aldworth, and Allingham went over several
times : but there a^-e no notes of the talks to copy.

Pleasant visits were exchanged with Mr. and Mrs.
Harry Furniss, who stayed in Haslemere in June — and
with many other friends.

In September the Allinghams went to Sandown for
a month.]

October 13. — To Aldworth. Novels. Vanity Fair-.
I said I was now reading some of Trollope's, and felt my
estimate of his powers to be higher than it used to be.

Tennyson. — ' But they're so dull — so prosaic : never
a touch of poetry.'

Lyme Regis — I reminded him that I was at Lyme
in his company, and how we visited Mr. Barnes at his
vicarage near Dorchester, — ' How is old Barnes } ' asked
T. in a kindly tone — ' Do you ever hear from him } '
' Yes, I had a letter lately.'

We spoke of Lord Houghton, his kindly nature. I
repeated a verse of ' I wandered by the brookside,' and
told what the author told me ; that he wrote it on an Irish
jaunting-car driving to Edgeworthstown to visit Miss
Edgeworth. A line or two came into his head, somehow ;
he made the whole piece, almost without thinking of it,
and it seemed to him (then) to have not the least value.

342

SANDHILLS, '

WITLEY,

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i88s ALDWORTH 343

I repeated three lines —

Adieu, dear Yorkshire Milnes ! we think not now

Of coronet or laurel on thy brow ;

The kindest, faithfuUest of friends vvert thou.

T. asked, ' Whose is that r '

' Mine,' I told him.

' That's very good,' he said.

(A rare treat to have praise from him.)

Friday, November 6. — Fine, walked from Sandhills
to Aldworth, through Haslemere, muddy roads, yellow
russet woods. The Bucktons there, T. and Mr. B.
on Natural History. T. asks ' How can Evolution
account for the ant : ' Mr. B. says the theory presents
many difficulties. He is studying the English cicadae.
We go to hall door to see the B.'s off, then Tennyson
and I take a short walk. He asks me to stay the night,
and I accept.

After dinner, ' To-morrow ' (late ' Molly Magee ')
is again produced, this time in print. The whole of the
new volume is in print, but, as usual, stays thus for a
time, sometimes a long time, for final corrections.
Carleton's Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry —
with which he is delighted. I said I knew Carleton a
little. ' Then you knew a man of genius,' said T. He
thinks C. is not appreciated. I told him that in Ire-
land he is, highly. Also that C, Catholic born, turned
Protestant in youth, wrote the Traits, then returned to
his old Church and wrote many stories, in which priests
and other matters were handled in a different way.

' Those are not so good, I should think,' T. said.

I told him that Irish brogue has many nuances^
especially in sound ; it differs in different parts of the
island ; and there are vulgar and unvulgar brogues ;
and the possessor of a vulgar brogue is a subject of
frequent imitation and ridicule among his own country-
men. But a mild brogue in the mouth of an educated
person, and especially of a pretty woman, is sweet and

344 ALDWORTH 1885

soothing, pleasant and coaxing. Her way of spe-aking
is very different from the way an ignorant Connaught
or Munster peasant would shpayke. I could not bring
myself to use the vulgar brogue in verse, unless it were
for a broadly comic purpose.

T. said the Irish way of speaking was wonderfully
like the Lincolnshire.

He once more spoke a good deal about the want of
some fixed standard of English pronunciation, or even
some fixed way of indicating a poet's intention as to
the pronunciation of his verses. ' It doesn't matter so
much (he said) in poetry written for the intellect —
as much of Browning's is, perhaps ; but in mine it's
necessary to know how to sound it properly.'

I suggested that he might put on record a code for
pronouncing his own poetry, with symbolised examples,
and he seemed to think this might be done.

After tea he turned over the leaves of the new
volume, I looking over his arm. Put last now (it was
first) is a Sonnet against raking together and publishing
the fragments of a deceased Poet. This is to ' swamp
the Poets with themselves ' (a favourite turn of phrase
with T.) Then he turned to a longish poem called
' The Flight ' and said, ' This was written fifty years ago.'
I asked him to read it : he said ' Oh, it isn't worth
reading ' — but he read it. It is not very notable among
his varied riches, but simpler and more straightforward
in style than some of his later pieces. I said I liked
it, and he said he was glad of that. (I had read
' Vastness ' in Macmillan s Magazine without any sense
of gain.)

Saturday^ November 7. — Aldworth, 8.15 — misty.
Walked with T. down the lane to Lythe Hill and back.
I asked him what he had seen of Gordon. Saw him
once only : he came to luncheon one day to T.'s, in
London. He was shy and rather silent, but he had a
pleasant look.

W. A. — ' Have you read Gordon's Journals ? '

1885 ALDWORTH 345

T. — 'No. The Queen told me I ought to read
them.'

W. A. — ' You ought hideed.' Then I rapidly but
at some length gave him a sketch of the contents of
that curious book, and of Gordon's character — man of
great powers, immense wilfulness, whence followed a
great catastrophe. T. listened much more patiently
than I expected, and laughed at G.'s entry — ' I am
insubordinate, incorrigible ; if I were my own superior
I would certainly never employ myself ! '

He told a droll thing about Lord F. at a Farmers'
Dinner at Exeter the other day. Speaking to some
toast, his Lordship had occasion to name one of the
most important farmers present, and alluded with
sympathy to ' a recent family affliction ' which had
befallen him — the man's wife having died a short time
before. The farmer, having to speak by and by,
thanked his Lordship very kindly for the way he had
spoken of him, but ' as for my old woman (he went
on) she were a teasy twoad, and the Lord's welcome to
her!'

We talked of Rabelais. T. made Hght of his
stercoraceous qualities, and said he used to read him
aloud at Cambridge to some of his friends and they
all nearly tumbled off their chairs with laughing. The
foulness was but a mask to hide his free-thinking. But,
I said, he evidently enjoyed it, revelled in it.

Friday, November 13. — Hallam met Helen yesterday
at Haslemere and invited us to come to luncheon to-day.
We found T. just untying the dogs for his morning
walk. He proposed to take Helen and me to an old
ruinous cottage, Dickhurst, he had often told us of,
and thought H. might like to paint. So we three went
down the new road, a few apples still in the orchard,
out by the lower gate, and a mile or so along the roads
of the Sussex Weald ; a fine day, though with some
mist, and the half-bare copses and hedges still rich with
their tarnished-gold russet.

346 ALDWORTH 1885

T. said he never was in an oak country in Spring till
last year and was astonished at the colours. A highish
field gate was locked, and T. climbed over — then trudg-
ing through a swampy field we came to the deserted
half- ruinous cottage, with long slope of tiled roof,
broken windows and empty barns. H. made a pencil
sketch, and T. and I went on farther, but could not
get through the copse. Hallam appeared with a pony-
carriage and drove off Helen and his cousin Mrs.
Pope. T, and I walked back. He spoke of the
Lincolnshire farmers of his early days, and what ' beasts '
they were.

I said : * You ought to be more tolerant to poor
Paddy — he has better manners at least.'

T. — ' I count Paddy a child. But his mutilation
of animals is shocking ; — worse than shooting men.'

W. A. — ' I have heard it said that in Catholic countries
there is less humanity towards animals than in Protestant:
Catholicism teaches that animals are created solely for
man's use.' We spoke of the cruelties of the Inquisition.
T. said, ' A Catholic priest said to me, all those were
political, not ecclesiastical.'

W. A. — ' That takes away the sole possible excuse
for them, namely that they were done in defence of the
one true Faith and to save souls from perdition.' We
then went back to Irish and Keltic peoples in general. I
said, ' Perhaps England owes most of its finer qualities, its
poetry, music, and art, to the Ancient British elements.'

T. said, but not very confidently, ' I doubt that.'

[About this time, Allingham notes : — ]

Savoy. Mikado — pretty dresses — music skilful, har-
monious, and agreeable — not an atom of melodic
invention. S.'s only way of getting at the semblance
of a tune is to set words with a very marked rhythm,
and by dint of time-beat and harmonisation to give a
sort of impression of an air — but 'tis a mere bubble.
In ' Yum- Yum ' (and elsewhere) the phrase is old and
familiar.

1886 WITLEY

1886

347

Have entirely neglected diary from December 1885 till
to-day, February 1 6th ! A variable cold winter — all kinds
of weather in a week. But is anything disagreeable as
we look back save one's own faults and mistakes ?

We sometimes call in at the Evans's on a Sunday.

Sonny and I often walk to Godalming.

Helen dihgent at her Cottages.

I finish the twelve Flower Sonnets in Athenaum.

Rhyme book.^ Harry Furniss's two drawings.
Iu-Kiao-Li{- etc.

March 10. — Gladstone cooking his Irish Stew.

March 19. — To London. Japanese Exhibition, etc.

March 2 1 . — The Grange. Georgie truly friendly :
Margaret in flowery flowing robe : Phil (with keen chin
and bright eyes) : Ned comes in.

April 25. — G. and E. to church v/ith Elizabeth.
G. said ' I read all the " I beli'^ves " and I didn't believe
any of them.' Thev said 'church was nice.' 'Would
they like to go every Sunday ? ' ' O no.'

July 9. — Diary not touched for more than two
months. Mrs. Paterson at Sandhills. Visits of Carrie,
of Arthur, of Basil and Clara Martineau.

July 31. — To Busbridge. Hungarian Band. Mr.
Ramsden, Mr. Stone, Mr. Molyneux, etc. To Miss
Jekyll's — round her garden (I always like to be with
Miss Jekyll). Her studio, and forge.

Tuesday, August 3. — Miss having frequently

failed to come on the appointed days to teach . the
children, we bring the arrangement to an end, and I
intend to take up the teaching for the present.

^ Rhymes for the Young Folk (Cassells) : illustrations by Kate Greenaway,
Harry Furniss, C. Paterson (now Mrs. Sutton Sharpe), and H. Allingham,
engraved and printed by Edmund Evans. (Now out of print.)

2 A Chinese novel, much praised by Carlyle. The only English translation
oi lu-Kiao-Li is ' from the French version of M. Abel Remusat,' and was pub-
lished in 1827 : it is now out of print. Allingham urged several publishers
to bring out a new edition of the book (for which he wrote a preface), but
without success. A copy of this rare book is in Mrs. Allingham's possession.

348 WITLEY 1886

August 7. — Mrs. Tom Taylor and Wycliffe come —
Saturday to Monday. Gerald and I at station — fine day.
Gathering gooseberries, Wycliffe, Henny, and I ; Mrs.
T. and H. on seat at top of field. Luncheon, Mary Carlyle
suddenly appears, very welcome : ' busy over proofs of
new edition of Reminiscences — tired, and thought she'd
run down on chance.' We all drive off for Hindhead.
Evanses and K. G. — echo — Devil's Punch Bowl.

Mrs. Colvin going to help nurse Mrs. Moorey [of
Redland's Farm, Sandhills.] Death of Mrs. Moorey.
They kept the body a week — put on a shroud made by
herself before she was married.

H. and I met Mrs. M. a couple of evenings before
her fit, when she spoke of the beauty of Sandhills.

Tuesday, August i o. — Times obituary this morning —
' We have to record the death of Sir Samuel Ferguson,
Q.C., LL.D., Deputy Keeper of the Public Records in
Ireland ' — at Bray, yesterday. They go on : ' had been
for some years a Vice-President of the Royal Irish
Academy ' (a Vice-President !) Not one word or hint of
his poetry or other writings. Truly, the union between
England and Ireland is not made of flesh and blood,
but of the harsh material of politics and economics ; and
only when this bond drags and irritates does the larger
island think of the lesser. No thrills of national sym-
pathy run through the connecting tie. Even as a
subject of intellectual interest or curiosity Ireland has a
very small share of England's attention. The songs,
stories, and plays on Irish subjects, written to amuse
England, have had their success, but no more of the
kind are wanted, and no other kind is marketable.

Ireland herself is too poor and unsettled, and in too
backward a stage of civilisation to afford a public for
literature, unconnected with party controversies. On
the whole — whatever may be unthinkingly said to the
contrary, Ireland presents an ungrateful soil for the
cultivation of the higher belles lettres. No London paper
speaks of Ferguson as a Man of Letters.

1886 WITLEY 349

August 22. — Our Wedding Day — twelve years ago.
Bless my dear wife and children.

August 25. — Lucy Toulmin Smith, meet her at train.
Garden — grammar, British Museum, Petrie's music,
etc.

August 27. — Tc Aldworth. Tennyson on lawn with
Dr. Grailey Hewitt, who has taken a house down here.

Ghosts — T. said, ' My grandfather, one night sit-
ing up late reading, at College, looked up and saw,
close to him, the ugliest old woman he ever saw in his
life ; and he also saw his cap and gown, which were
hanging on the wall, going round and round the room.
He shut up his book and said, *' I'd better not read
any more for the present." '

Tennyson looked very fine to-day, grandly simple,
gently dignified : the marks round his mouth soft in
expression as dimples.

Friday, September 3. — Gathering plums and green-
gages— warm again. To Godalming with H. and
three children, to Wild Beast Show. Camels on grass.
Lions, African elephant fanning herself with her ears.

Monkeys, etc. : Irish giant, and ' Missing Link,' 2d.
extra.

Nothing entered till October 12. In September I
went to London for the day. Called at Quaritch's to see
the Blake facsimiles : some talk with Q. He said ' I
never look at pictures, except on vellum. I have as large
a collection of these as any bookseller, perhaps. I know
nothing about picture exhibitions : my business is with
books and I keep my mind fixed upon that.' By and
by I referred to a passage in some book and said ' you
remember that, of course ' ; to which he replied with
brevity and emphasis ' I never read books.'

The Old Book Trade is his subject, and he is said to
be master of it. I ordered ' Songs of Experience.' He
was interested in talking about Evans, a printseller in
Great Queen Street, who had a large collection of Blake
drawings, which Rossetti and I looked over. ' That

350 ALDWORTH 1886

must have been twenty-nine years ago, at the least,'
says Quaritch — and so it was.

October 29. — To Aid worth. Hallam. Show him
letter from Miss Barnes about her father's death.

T. tells the story of a Dog, lost in St. Petersburg,
finding its way to its master in the country. Also of a
Bastile Prisoner and his lark. It had lived with him in
prison ; when he was set free he took the cage out to
the fields, and opened the door — the lark hopped out,
flew up into the air singing — suddenly stopt, and fell
dead at the man's feet.

[Another day] Tennyson said, ' No man can really
feel the poetry of any language but his own.'

W. A. — Clough told me he could not dissociate
Greek Poetry from grammar and ' grinding.'

T. — ' I never appreciated Horace till I was forty.'

November 24. — To Aldworth. Tennyson spoke
gloomily (as usual) about the future of England — war,
etc, I said, ' We could escape from nearly all chance
of War by a bold and honest step.'

' How .^ ' asked T.

' Step out of India.'

T. — ' That would be ruin.'

W. A. — ' Not at all. Bind Australia and Canada
to you — your own people : India you never can.'

T. — ' We are doing everything possible for them in
India, and they roar and rage against us.'

W. A. — ' Just so, and will be your destruction at
last'

I tell him I have written a ballad on the ' Banshee.'

T. — ' I intend to write one. I have always been
much struck with the " Banshee." '

W. A. — ' I must take care to get out before you ! '

Christmas Day, sunshine, 89° in the sun.

Monday^ December 27. — Thick snow, dazzling.
Trees broken, laurels bowed to the ground. Our
children shovelling in the garden. Snow man.

Friday^ 31st. — Snow — frost. Bells of Chiddingfold.

CHAPTER XXII

1887

January i. — Frost and snow. New Year's gifts.

January 4. — Pure white world, dun mist and soft
snow. People look like blackamoors. Read Faust to
H. Letter from Henry Irving with Box for Faust.
Pension received.^

January 5. — Thaw — slush. Read Gulliver in the
nursery.

January 17. — H., G., E. and I to pond. I put
skates on after at least seventeen years — clumsy.

February i. — Snowdrops, polyanthuses.

Saturday^ February 5. — Out after dinner — bright
stars — half-moon — frost in the morning. Aconite in
flower, hazels hung with green catkins.

Monday^ February 21. — Evey's birthday — H. and
I with the three children into copse below Moorey's,
and find a few small primroses. Tea, cake, games,
etc.

H. busy over the Bond Street Exhibition drawings.

Saturday^ March 5. — Revising Poems all through.

April 3. — Very fine and vernal. In garden, pruning.

Monday, April 11. — Easter Monday — Fine, G., E.
and I walk ; Toll House, field -lane, some prim-
roses. Bank studded with wood-anemones, primroses,
violets.

Dream : I went down the street holding in my left

1 Allingham's Pension had been raised to ;Cioo a year.
351

352 LONDON 1887

hand, by a red silken rope, five gold bells beautifully
chased and carved, and, stroking them with my right
hand, brought out delicious music ; and felt heavenly
happiness. Then I woke — with a face-ache ! — as I had
gone to sleep with it.

Was it in a cessation of pain that the lovely dream
appeared .'' A pause of pain sometimes makes posi-
tive pleasure.

Friday^ April 22. — After midnight went into garden
— feeling rather depressed. Sprinkle of rain.

Hear first nightingale down in copse — feel cheered.

Monday, April 25. — Helen and I to London with
cargo of drawings for her Exhibition. Drove to Bond
Street, settling frames, etc.

In the evening to Old Swan House, and were kindly
received by Mr. and Mrs. Wickham Flower. Beautiful
house. Reading and looking at books till 12. About
6 A.M. I peeped out, saw the morning sun on the river
just under our windows, and a little tug drawing two
barges along ; on opposite shore the lawns and low trees
of Battersea Park.

April 27. — Old Swan House. I visit Carlyle statue.
Mrs. De Morgan (sweet-looking old lady) and Mary.
' Spiritualism — The Haslemere people whose fire is
lighted by ghosts.' Wallace — the Carlyles — friendly
talk.

April 29. — R. A. Private View. H. and K. Green-
away, Brett (' didn't know K. G. was a real person '),
Fildes, Mrs. Stephens, etc. Albert Moore (dines with
me at Liberal Club).

April 30. — Old Swan House. Pack up. Private
View, Grosvenor — Hennessy, Holman Hunt, Browning:
he tells story of Fontenelle — ' miserly noble dropt alms
into the bag ; being asked again, said " I gave." " I
believe it," said the applicant, " though I didn't see
it." " And I," whispered Fontenelle, " saw it, but
don't believe it." '

May I. — 3 Eldon Road, Hampstead. The Russell

1887 LONDON 353

Scotts call. To Gayton Road, Mrs. Paterson, Arthur,
Carrie. With Clara and H. to Kate Greenaway's new
house, Frognal ; pleasant large studio. Her original
drawings much prettier than the reproductions.

May 2. — H. and I call on Huxleys — tea, pleasant
talk — at Marks's. Alma Tadema's new house, Grove
End Road — Mrs. Tadema friendly. The studio like a
Byzantine church. Mrs. T.'s studio built and furnished
like an old Netherlandish room.

May 5. — Dine at Mr. Walter Besant's. Mr. B.
thinks the Cloister and the Hearth the best historical
novel in the world. He thinks a novelist can't be a
dramatist. (But in France 'tis otherwise : e.g. V. Hugo,
Dumas fils, and others.)

Friday., May 6. — Eldon Road, Dr. Martineau comes
to luncheon (82) — tall, thin, courteous, deliberate.
Curiously modelled, deep-lined face ; close-shaven ; hair
still bushy in effect, though thinned. He speaks with
invariable readiness and gentle precision. ' Metaphysical
Society, so called — -was there any result from it } '

' Only in this way — it drew men together and made
them judge each other and each other's opinions more
fairly. I believe it modified Huxley's views, and
perhaps Tyndall's.'

Comte : Dr. Martineau admires his classification of
the Sciences. Fisk — Frederic Harrison.

All this time he was sitting to Clara, who is at work
on a third life-size portrait of him, head and shoulders.
After an hour he took out his watch, and soon departed,
in a shower of rain. Said he should be ' most happy
to have the honour ' of proposing me at the Athenaeum
Club, if I thought of becoming a candidate, unless, I
' should select some fitter person.'

Dr. Martineau spoke much of Gladstone — met him
at dinner at Tennyson's, in London (about two years
ago?) The lady beside Dr. Martineau asking his opinion
on Irish affairs. Dr. M. said he thought Ireland of late
had rather been petted than oppressed. Gladstone

2 A

354 WITLEY 1887

overheard this, and asked the Doctor to explain.
Martineau thought that wherever any legislative
difference was made between England and Ireland, it
was in favour of Ireland.

On this Gladstone took up the cudgels : ' but (said
M.) I soon drew out of the discussion, and left my
side of it in the hands of some politicians who were
present. A day or two after I was with Tennyson ;
he said, " Gladstone didn't like what you said about
Ireland." " No — but it's true." " That's why he
didn't like it," said Tennyson. The present Bishop
of St. Andrews, Wordsworth, was tutor to Gladstone :
he told me he was one day congratulating old Mr.
Gladstone on his son's success at college : the old
man replied, with a serious look, " I have no doubt of
William's ability : I wish I were equally sure of his
stability." '

May 1 1 . — Sandhills. Henny's Birthday. Sweet
happy little boy — five years old.

Sunday^ June 5. — Fine, cool wind. H. and I drive,
by invitation, to Manor House, Haslemere, which we
reach about 4.15. Miss Wolseley receives us, then
Lady Wolseley comes, lively, pretty, and pleasant.
Soon after the General, in gray jacket, corduroy
breeches (with flap), black riding-boots and spurs ; a
light figure, about five feet seven in stature ; bright,
almost boyish face of roundish shape, with small ashen-
coloured moustache, the forehead full and smooth, the
hair close-cut, of a steel gray. With easy friendly
smile he shook hands and began to talk, without accent
of any sort, but certain turns of phrase as well as his
whole manner unmistakably Irish. After a little H.
went off with Lady and Miss W., and I had the honour
of half or three-quarters of an hour's conversation
with the famous man, winding on without the least
trouble from one turn to another. He was interested to
hear of Banacle ^ as a semaphore station in bygone days.

* Banacle Hill, near Witley.

,887 WITLEY 355

' The semaphore remained in the Admiralty till not
long ago.'

I said some one had lately told me that there was
still some use of it.

' O no,' said Lord W., ' you might as well think
of using bows and arrows in war.'

Somebody, I remarked, did recommend going back
to bows and arrows.

' O yes, there are people who think the world is
going to the bad every day — a friend of mine thinks
England has been ruined by railways ; he can't even
get anything fit to eat nowadays, — -" do you call this
stuflF mutton ! " — and so on.'

Painting — Lord Wolseley said he was very fond of
it : ' If I had my time to myself it would be a toss-up
whether I should turn to water-colours or to writing.'

The Life of Marlborough : ' Yes — I'm not at work
upon it, but I have done something now and again these
many years. I don't want to write about his campaigns
— that has been done sufficiently, and by competent
hands — but about the man himself.'

' You can perhaps brush away some of the dirt that
has been thrown upon his name } '

' Certainly : judging him by the standard of the
time, I find no foundation for the charges made against
him by bitter enemies.'

* Thackeray's hard sayings in Esmond and elsewhere,
" His Grace would rob a private soldier of his pay," —
any truth in this .? '

' Not a bit. Marlborough did exactly what was
usual ; the system was a bad one, but the outcry against
Marlborough was made solely for party purposes, and
when Ormonde succeeded him, Ormonde did just the
same. Macaulay's style enchanted me in my youth, it
was like music ; but his statements are not to be trusted
in the least. Marlborough, at the age of fifty-four, was
a poor man, and in the next ten years he grew very
rich, there's no doubt about that. The truth is, it is

356 WITLEY 1887

very hard to get any idea of what Marlborough was
personally : we know he was handsome, and that's about
all. I have read great quantities of his letters and
despatches.'

* Have they much individuality ? '
' Little or none.'

We came back to drawing. Lord Wolseley spoke
of the sketches he made in various parts of the world,
how they brought back all the minute circumstances in
which each was done ; most of them were burnt in
the fire at the Pantechnicon — also his books. After
the fire things were put in a chapel close by, and
people allowed to pick out what belonged to them.
Lord W. picked up a bronze of his, has it now, bruised
and marked with fire. ' I'm sorry I didn't take some
of my books — they were lying in a pulpy state, injured
chiefly by water — but I left them there. I had to pay
the Pantechnicon too for taking care of my things !
We protested against this, but the law so decided.
Whenever I come near books I am attracted to them,
and am ready to lose myself in them. I am very fond
of my own books : I hate lending them — I tell people
so plainly.'

Lady W. and her daughter returned with Helen,
and we all had tea. Lord W. complained jocularly of
the scanty supply of bread-and-butter, rang the bell, and
said to the footman in prompt military manner ' More
bread-and-butter. '

Lady W. — ' We are not usually so ill-supplied.
That tremendous young person {i.e. Miss W., a large,
pleasant young lady of fifteen, as tall as her father) is
not fed upon air.' Then they talked of the amusing
parsimony in small things at a certain country house
in Surrey (an Earl's) — only a shovelful of coals, for

instance, in the bed-room coal-scuttles. Col.

staying there, in cold weather, went into several empty
bed-rooms near his and carried off all their coals in his
own scuttle. Sometimes this comes from old habits.

,887 WITLEY 357

Lord W. spoke of a man he knew, very rich and not
at all miserly, but who had been very poor in early life
and accustomed to practise strict economy : ' I know
how absurd it is,' he often said, ' but I can't bear to
throw away even an old tooth-brush ! '

After tea we were shown some beautifully bound
books (Lord W. let one drop — ' O Garnet ! ') — several
done by Mr. Cobden Sanderson.

While talking of Marlborough, I asked whether any
of the present people (they were Spencers till lately,
but descend from Marlborough's daughter) had the least
physical likeness to the great Duke ? Lord W. said no.
I remarked that race did not necessarily carry likeness
with it.

Lord W. — ' But likeness crops up amazingly. Some
years ago I was in Brussels, at the King's, and an
Austrian grand-duke was there also, who was exactly
like a portrait three hundred years old which hung
in the palace, representing his ancestor.'

We all four went into the old-fashioned garden,
Lord W. with large, soft but high-crowned gray hat,
thrown loosely on to one side, handkerchief hanging
half out of his breast-pocket, corduroy breeches, bright
eyes and merry face, seeming as if he wanted only a
shillelagh to enable him to present, if so inclined, a
genteel version of the typical Paddy. Not that there
is the least touch of burlesque or absurdity about
him.

We spoke of Tennyson, and our thinking of visiting
Aldworth this week.

Lord W. — ' Queer old chap ! ' — admires his poetry,
but thinks it ' effeminate.' (If I have the chance I must
try to sift Lord W.'s notions on poetry.)

I must not forget that at tea Lord W. said in his
usual easy cheerful way that it was a great modern
absurdity to value human life too highly — people had
made idols of first one thing and then another, and now
their idol was human life.

358 WITLEY 1887

I said, ' surely the notion of the mystic sacredness of
human life is very old, there's Cain and Abel.'

Lord W. allowed this instance, but with a twinkle
of the eye went on : ' but look at the Lord God, how
he slew thousands upon thousands, smote them hip and
thigh.' Helen put in, ' That was a long time ago,'
and we all smiled.

I said a man I knew, Dr. Bodichon of Algiers, had a
serious theory for improving the world in the shortest
possible time, by the painless extinction of all useless
human beings. He would have juries, including a large
proportion of men of science, to decide on the fitness
of this person or that to live.

Lord W. — * I entirely agree with your Algerian
friend. I would have supplies of chloroform for gaols
and hospitals, for cripples and so forth, and the world
would be debarrasse of much trouble and expense.'

I argued that this would lead to many abuses, and that
the general level of morality would be lowered. But
Lord W. maintained that we have nowadays an absurd
and superstitious respect for human life, and seemed
to mean it. To lighten off the discussion I repeated
to Lady W. what Madame Bodichon said to me in the
midst of one of her husband's discourses on scientific
homicide, — ' he wouldn't himself drown a kitten ! '

While H. went in with the ladies for her parasol
before starting. Lord W. and I stood at the old porch
looking at a nest of bees among the ivy ; then he pointed
at Lady W.'s pug. ' There's an absurd creature ! it has
a tail and it's alive, that's all you can say. I'm fond of
dogs, but such a thing as that is good for no purpose.'

' Pugs would come under the chloroform act .'' ' I
suggested.

' Every one of 'em ! ' said he ; and then out came
the ladies, and H. and I took leave, and walked home
four miles through the beautiful green country, glad of
an interesting visit. Clear, prompt, direct, cheerful, —
gifted with physical and mental vivacity, in manners

i8S7 LONDON 359

simplicity itself, in conversation easy and quick, — such
appeared to us the famous General to-day.

He can walk in the country. Lady W. told us, much
better than in London, where the hard pavements jar
his wounded leg.

Monday^ June 13. — Invitation from Lady Wolseley
to see the Jubilee Procession from Lord W.'s window
at the War Office.

Tuesday^ June 21. — At Mary Carlyle's, Chalcot
Gardens, Haverstock Hill. — Up at seven, breakfast at
quarter to eight. H. and I walk away quietly over
Primrose Hill and down Regent's Park, green, almost
empty, in the fine summer's morning. As we emerge
on the road a troop of the Life Guards passes. Port-
land Place, Chinese Embassy, two Yellow Dragon flags
and the Union Jack between them, lifted a little higher.
Cavendish Sqr., Hanover Sqr., Piccadilly, — crowd,
policemen make way for us across. Then St. James's
Sqr. and Pall Mall, cross and to St. James's Park, where
we find the back-way into the War Office, shaded with
elder and other greenery.

Lord Wolseley's room. — Mr. and Mrs. Frank HoU.
Miss Violet Paget introduces herself to me, and we
have much talk. She says I was the first person who
presented her to the pubHc as authoress : ' I carried
about your postcard in my pocket for many days ; I
was younger then, I'm sorry to say, than I am now.'
She thinks Painters generally talk better than Authors
— I don't agree, nor does Mrs. Frank Holl.

Clubs drest up. Junior Carlton opposite. Army and
Navy (' my club,' says handsome man to his wife), copied
from Library at Venice, marble tint ' caused by silica
varnish.'

Claret cup and sweet cake. Band, also Ethiopian
Serenaders. Sparse red lines of soldiery — police —
officials cantering to and fro. Procession at last.
Princesses in white, bowing like automatons. Prince of
Wales, all gold and feathers ; German Crown Prince,

36o WITLEY 1887

tall, in white uniform. The cream horses, and the
Queen (white-haired ?) Princess of Wales opposite —
glittering river of liveries and trappings. Continuous
hurrahs — Queen's carriage stops opposite War Office.

Foreign Kings in covered carriages — long wait ;
soldiers march off — all over ^ — No, here come the Indian
Princes — some in livery-stables turn-out ; two han-
soms— mismanagement somewhere.

Lord Wolseley's room, part of an eighteenth-century
dwelling-house, old mantelpiece. Pieces of armour on
the walls, weapons, savage spears and shields, Egyptian
flag, maps, books.

Downstairs, rough people. H. and I by St. James's
Park, past Westminster Abbey, disfigured with stands,
and so to Waterloo station. Home about 5.30 — all
well, glad to be back. Bonfires lighted about ten, on
Hindhead, Blackdown, and at many points in the
Weald. I go up hill with G. and E., and as far as
Winkford gate — many fires, rockets, etc. Fire at
Aldershot. Hindhead catches fire, and burns all night.

Wednesday^ June 29. — Visitors. Miss Wolseley told
us that Lady Wolseley and she, on 2 1 st, breakfasted at
six o'clock in the morning and sat in the Abbey till 4 p.m.,
without any food but some bits of chocolate. Lady
W. could not see the Queen on the dais, only in passing
up the aisle. Both (Lady and Miss W.) were knocked
up. Lord W. also knocked up — against a wall by his
horse, at Gloster House, when going to call for the
Duke of C, hurt his bad leg, believed it to be broken^
but rode to Buckingham Palace and in the Procession
as per programme ; anxious about alighting at the
Abbey — did alight, found his leg not broken and able to
carry him to his seat.

July 20. — Dine at Busbridge. Mr. and Mrs.
Ramsden — Lady Galway, tall, in black. Catches my
hand in both hers, thanking me for lines on her Brother.
(' Farewell, dear Yorkshire Milnes,' etc.)

July 22. — Miss M. Betham Edwards. G. and I

,S87 WITLEY 361

meet her at train. She republican and Home ruler. I
drive her round by Brook, Lea, and Witley Village.

Saturday, July 23. — Very fine and breezy. Miss
B. Edwards on garden seat with children. Gerald and
I to Portsmouth by 12.5 special — empty at first, then
fills. Station — crowded street, tramcars, flags. We
walk to Southsea Common — burnt up. Shingle, people,
sparkling tide, boats, etc. Line of Fleet not distinct, but
numbers of big ships at Spithead and along the Solent —
masts and flags. Long wait, watching the people, girls
and children, soldiers and sailors, bands, fruit-sellers,
etc. etc. Salute, like taps on a huge drum, followed by
rolling white smoke, which gradually drifts towards us.
As time went on we saw Fleet better, but nothing of
Royal Yachts.

Return by back streets, dull. Station — crowd ; sit
on board and eat ; no train for us till 8.8. Out again
— Witley about 10 o'clock.

Monday, July 25. — H. to train for her mother,
with Henny; Evey and 1 wait at gate, pick laurel leaves.

Friday, August 12. — Cooler, but not a drop of
moisture (no dew even). H. drove to Manor House
with Henny, picking up Mrs. Thompson and daughter;
Gerald and I walked over, and found H. painting
a corner of the lawn. To us came out Lord
Wolseley, in riding -boots and breeches, bright and
genial as usual, with his boyish smile and touch of
Dublin way of speaking, careless and easy. He hugged
Gerald, while asking him, ' How old are you, sir } ' and
other questions. He looked at H.'s drawing, discussed
pigments, etc. Said he should much like to ride over
and call at Sandhills some day. Ran upstairs to fetch
me The Reign of Queen Victoria, edited by Humphry
Ward, but has only second volume, which I carry off.
Lord W. walked with us as far as Grayswood
Common. We talked of Carlyle and Mrs. Carlyle.
He said, ' I only saw Carlyle once, and I was much
interested.' H., G. and I walk home.

362 WITLEY 1887

Saturday^ August 13. — Fine, cooler. H. and I, with
Evey, drive to Mrs. Simmons's garden party, Shotter
Mill. George Craik and Dinah, Mr. and Mrs. Pratt,
the Bucktons, two Miss Griffiths, etc. etc. Lawn-tennis,

Deodar, under which George Eliot used to write.
H. and I cross the road to small house, formerly Mrs.
Gilchrist's, and where George Eliot stayed a while.
Mrs. Clarke and two daughters the present tenants.

Thursday y August 18. — H. to Manor House to paint.
I with Gerald to fetch her home in pony-carriage.
They all come to the gate and into the road bare-headed
to see us off. I say, ' Looks as if we might be bound
for Australia.' Lord W. says the low wheels are heavy
to pull. — I lend him Garnett's Life of Carlyle.

Friday^ August 19. — H. and I drive Toby to
Thursley, with Mary Stewart, to call on Lowes
Dickinson, find him with daughter at cross-roads going
out to paint. Wheeler's Farm — (Toby in coach-house),
view to back, sloping fields, church, etc. Talk, P. R. B. ;
education doesn't alter character. Sons at Charterhouse,
have done well at Cambridge.

(L. D. a little like Hook, but with a sad and languid
air in comparison, and dark eyes instead of gray-blue)
— a friendly meeting ; drive home by Lea Park and
Witley Village.

August 20. — Arthur, H.'s brother from London —
drives her, with Mary Stewart, to Chiddingfold.
' Story written with Besant ' — Arthur's own novel.

Sunday, August 21. — Arthur rides Toby to Hind-
head Cross — goes with Mr. Colvin to Boro' Farm.
Lowes Dickinson and two daughters come ; tea in
garden ; friendly talk.

Tuesday^ August 23. — Drive H. and Gerald to Boro'
Farm, under Bodboro' Hill, past rifle-ground, moor,
lane. Alfresco-ists under big ash, the Glovers, the
Colvins, children. Miss Glover, in her brother's hat,
sings The Wear'in 0 the Green, also Spanish and Italian
canzonettes, airily, easily, merrily — to Neapolitan Guitar

,887 POYNTON 363

decorated with a great bunch of various coloured ribbons ;
asks me for a green one — we talk brogue. Swing on
big ash-tree. Tea for children and Miss G. on grass.
We in house (Humphry Ward's summer retreat).
Choice engravings on wall.

Proofs of Irish Songs dribbling in.

August 30. — [To Mrs. Turner's, Barlow Fold,
Poynton — British Association at Manchester.] Mr.
Rollo Russell, fellow-guest, has come from Haslemere
in same train.

September i. — Reception Room at Owens College.
Free Trade Hall, Sir H. Roscoe's address. Exhibition,
Picture Galleries — Rossetti, Burne - Jones, Watts,
Tadema, Walker, Mason, etc. etc. : H.'s ' Carlyle '
badly placed.

September 6. — Poynton. H. and I in pony-cart to
Prestbury, then she to white cottage on Macclesfield
Road, where she puts up and paints. I into Prestbury,
church and old chapel. In the street, one hen visible.
Strange and beautiful little old house — knock. Young
woman shows me into house — poor inside ; bed-room
(her father's and her own) windows shut, bed-clothes
only turned down a little on rising, and so left. Other
half of house — ' Can I get in ? — will you ask ^ '

' Well, she's rather strange, you'd better ask her
yourself.'

I knock — 'Who's that.? — well, you can come in.'

I found a woman, not very old, but worn and wild
looking : toothless, unkempt, no gown on, sitting by
wretched fireplace, of which she began to complain — -
' smoke, soot, rain through roof. Agent won't do
anything —rent £^, taxes los. (other half the same).

Her husband left her years ago — not a good man ;
doesn't know is he living or dead — went to Westmore-
land. Son a sailor — sent her £1 ^ month last year.
Daughter married in London, — ' that's like her '
(coloured engraving on wall).

' Don't people want to see the old house .' '

364 WITLEY 1887

' Ay, they looks in — but you're the first this summer
that's given me anything.'

There she lives alone, not friends even with her next
neighbours — capable of sharp words, doubtless. Poor
woman — many a one sketches the outside of this
beautiful ancient House when she is crouching by
the dull fire within, thinking of — what ,? I went up
the broken and almost dangerous stairs to the roof — the
rooms were empty ; some dusty papers lay in a corner,
one showing its title in bold print — Glad Tidings ;
on the wall hung an old coat and waistcoat — her
husband's ^ Outside, the sun shone on the pretty
village street and its trees. I found a path to where
Helen was painting ; settled plans, she to drive back.
Then by path to station, and train to Manchester. Cab
to Exchange, get in and see Madox Brown's Frescoes,
which look well. Owens College about 5.30.

Wednesday^ September 7. — Fine; garden — brook
(wild angelica about 12 feet high), shady dark paths,
bridge. H. painting apple-tree from field ; Mrs.
Turner drives us to Bramhall, to call on Mr. and
Mrs. Nevill — fine old timber mansion, on rising ground.
We are shown round — plans, restorations, old wall
paintings, Japanese work.

Friday^ September 9. — Drive to Stockport station
with Mrs. Turner — good-bye.

Sunday, September i\. — Sandhills. Fine. Drive H.
to Aldworth. Tennyson better — walk with him on
lawn ; asks, ' were you edified ^ ' (at British Association).
Lord Wolseley and daughter appear, having walked up
from Manor House.

T. — ' Is there a chair for the great Soldier ^ '

Lord W. speaks of the Nile — 'pretty flowers' —
has brought home specimens of them ; doesn't know
their names.

' Saw the mummy unrolled of the Pharaoh, the
friend of Moses — face unchanged.'

T. asks, * Which Pharaoh was that .'' '

^".-i^^dyt-sAayn- ^«^

. Trcnx a iimter colour ptn~trait

,887 ALDWORTH 365

W. doesn't know, ' There were so many Rameses.
Overflow of the Nile, threatening even the Museum
at Boulac. I rather wished for a scarabaeus or two ;
the Khedive said to me, " Go down to the Museum and
take as many as you like ! " '

Hallam asks us to come to meet his Uncle Arthur.

T, (to H.) — ' Didn't you begin a portrait of me
once. Well you might perhaps try again sometime.' ^

Thursday^ September 15. — Start with H. for Aid-
worth at noon in Toby-carriage, arrive about 1.15.
Carriage passes us with Mr. Arthur Tennyson and wife.
Luncheon. Arthur T. opposite me — hair bushy and still
dark ? curiously like Alfred, but younger and slighter.

Upstairs with Hallam and Arthur : they smoke.
A.'s way of speaking thoroughly Tennysonian both in
matter and manner — great love of natural beauty,
naive and original opinions. Out with him and Mrs.
Arthur, flower garden, walk, back-gate — to spring.
Arthur praises warmly the beauty of Surrey, and of this
place, but thinks a beautiful lonely place not best suited
for some people to live in — is apt to make them dreamy
and indolent.

' Don't you find this effect from living in beautiful
lonely scenery .'' '

'I have children to interest me.'

' Ah, yes, that makes a difference. I have not been
granted any children,'

At the spring (where Lord Egmont has had several
conspicuous trees cut down, leaving a woful blank) we
saw the three grandchildren, Alfred, Charley, and
Michael ; Alfred leaping his pony over bars.

A, and I turn back. We agree in disliking flesh-
food and in wishing we had been brought up vege-
tarians. ' We found the flesh-board provided (he said),
and got used to it without thinking.'

1 The opportunity did not come till a year or two later, when Mrs.
Aliingham painted the portrait in the Study at Farringford, a copy of
which is given on the opposite page.

366 WITLEY 1887

We meet Alfred and Mrs. Arthur, and turn.

We go up the close-wooded valley till turned back
by rain.

Arthur is a couple of inches shorter than Alfred,
and much narrower in the shoulders. He walks much,
he tells me.

September 23. — To Dunrozel [Hindhead.] Countess
Russell and daughter. Colonel and Mrs. Moncreiff.
Talk with Colonel M. ' Indians — their way of moving
— kind of leaping on their toes, five miles an hour ;
good people and intelligent.'

[On the 24th of this month the Allinghams went
to Sandown for a holiday with their children, staying
there until October 25.]

Wednesday^ October 26. — Fine — Henny and I up
common. Crowd of visitors — Lady Midleton and
daughters and guests (seven in all), Mrs. Stewart
Hodgson and Mrs. Freeman {nee Merivale), Miss
Longman and married sister, Mr. and Mrs. Colvin,
Mrs. Evans and Mrs. Cooper, Mrs. Hammond Jones.
Drawings looked at.

November. — Winter has come on us by a forced
march. Trees red and yellow — now mostly bare.
Wet, foggy, frosty weather, with a io.^ fine days
patched in. London riotous and getting worse. H.
at work on her drawings, I at proofs of Laurence
Bloomjield, and trying to get Irish Songs^ etc. out.
Binding not right, mistake in printing discovered,
already tired of the book.

Oar good nurse Elizabeth Haddon married on
Tuesday, November 15, to Harry Cave (both of
Naseby), brother to Alice Wisdom, the nurse.^ Day
fine, children at Witley church, and Gerald signed the
book by his own particular desire. After the lunch H.
and I went in, and I said a few words. We saw them off.

1 A little dispensary had been established at Sandhills by Lady Knuts-
ford : and Mrs. Alice Wisdom, to whom she had given the necessary training,
had been appointed by her as nurse : a great boon to the neighbourhood.

,-887 WITLEY 367

On frosty days the orange sunsets fine, Hindhead
looking mountainous against them ; walks to Godal-
ming, Park Lane, etc, — but often tedious.

H. and I called on Leonard Huxley, assistant-
master at Charterhouse.

* Must boys have been confirmed ? '

L. H. — * I think so — they all must go " through the
mill."' [The Allinghams had some idea of sending
their son as a day-boy to Charterhouse.]

To Mr. Buckton's. Mr. B. shows whistle of several
degrees (nine) of shrillness : I can't hear the two
shrillest, but I hear the third, which B. cannot hear.
Helen hears No. i.

November 23. — Indigestion continually, tedious
nights. If I only knew for certain what to eat and
drink !

Thursday^ November 24. — H., G., and I to Hasle-
mere by 4.7 train and walk to Valewood by Mason's
fields, farm, locked gate, old walnut. Three Counties'
Bridge, Valewood ponds and hills impressive in the
dusk. House — drawing-room, Mrs. Mangles, Dafi'arn,
Mrs. DafFarn, Daphne. Chat, tea.

Friday^ November 25. — Fine — some sunshine. H.
and I by 12.45 ^° Haslemere and walk up Blackdown.
Shooting heard. Beaters in lane, eating bread and
cheese. H. lunches among the heather. Then stables,
no one ; man cutting furze. Hallam hails us from
upper window. His room — he smokes — chat. He
and Audrey have just been at Cambridge to see
CEdipus acted, and took Mary Anderson with them ;
she drilled the young fellows — was surprised at the
poorness of their legs ; thought that but for the great
power of Sophocles the play would be intolerable ;
was disgusted with the bloody eyes ; all thought them
horrible.

Then about four to Tennyson's room ; find him
sitting at window in a red woollen cape, of fisherman's
shape, reading. Contrary to reports — looking well

368 ALDWORTH i88r

and cheerful. He gives Helen The Brook^ illustrated ;
asks if she will illustrate Locksley Hall for Macmillan,
but she excuses herself — is out of practice, and does not
know Lincolnshire.

Tennyson praises the picturesqueness of the great
fens, and the sun rising over the eastern sea. I say I can
tell them the right man for kn scenery — Macbeth.

T. says the drawings in the little book don't show
the Brook he thought of — it was partly an abstract, but
mainly from one in the country where he was born.

' Have you seen Darwin s Life ? '

T. — 'No, I hate biographies.'

Darwin — his dicta on religion — once cared for
poetry, etc.

T. was reading Elaine, a Play in five Acts, founded
on his Idyll. He said, ' I am told this has been played
for many nights in America. The language is partly
mine, partly not. It came this morning from New
York.'

' Have you got any money out of it .? '

* Money — no ! '

He went out on the lawn for his half-hour's after-
noon walk, I with him. We talked of Darwin — of
human nature — of the difficulties of the period of
puberty and following years. He spoke with praise
of Paul Janet. I hardly recollected about him. T.
said, ' Why, I remember reading Paul Janet to you in
the New Forest.'

' The only tolerable view of this life,' he said, ' is as
the vestibule to a better.'

In parting Tennyson held my wife's hand and said,
' I am very glad to have seen you again. Perhaps
you'll never see me again till I'm dead.' Then tome —
' Do you know what old Mrs. Procter said to me the
other day ^ I said to her, " I'm seventy-eight and you're
eighty-seven, and perhaps we shall never meet again till
we're dead," and she answered, " You young fellows
mustn't be insolent to your seniors ! " '

1887 WITLEY 369

We walked away, agreeing that he appeared well
and cheerful, and so down the lane in a misty moon-
light and to Haslemere station.

[About this time the Allinghams spent a pleasant
evening at Mr. Jonathan Hutchinson's on Hindhead,
when Mr. Hutchinson spoke of his deep debt of grati-
tude to Carlyle for the influence of his teaching on his
own early life. At the end of this year the following
notes are written, undated, in the diary : — ]

Have neglected my diary again for many weeks.
See no particular good in keeping it up, yet feel uneasy
when I don't.

A lady called to look at this house, hearing we were
thinking of leaving it. The house and surroundings
seem pleasanter than ever now that parting draws on —
but how help it ? We think of various places. It is
horrid to feel one's roots tampered with.

H. away for about a week (I loth, as usual, to let
her go) to Birmingham, where she saw old Mrs.
Phipson and various others, all over eighty and all still
enjoying life, which speaks well for the air ; then she
visited Hampstead, staying at Clara Martineau's ; and
St. Albans, finding her dear old Grannie, though feeble,
glad to see her and able to talk a little. Could not see
her Aunt Louie — who has since died, after a shadowed
life. H. describes Birmingham as wonderfully im-
proved— fine Public Library and Picture Gallery,
cheerful look in general ; the inhabitants are ambitious
to make it a provincial capital.

The winter, with some frosts, ran on quickly to
Christmas and New Year — the children sending and
receiving cards, putting up holly and ivy, etc. They
had tea, separately, at Nursey's cottage, as they still
call her. Went to a children's party at Mrs. Evans's.

In 1887 (October) departed Mrs. George Craik,
whom I first knew many years ago as Dinah Muloch.
Helen has a grateful recollection of her and her
husband's kindness in H.'s early London days.

2 B

370 WITLEY 1887

The R. Catholic Archbishop of Armagh (Daniel
M'Gettigan) departed in December. From Curate he
was made ' Bishop of Raphoe ' and came to live at
Ballyshannon, where I used to meet him often on
friendly terms — a tall, handsome, portly man, with an
engaging simplicity of manner and voice. He had a
sweet brogue, and spoke the Irish language fluently.
He lived a frugal, blameless life, diligent in his office,
tranquil, simple, dignified, more like by far to one's
notion of a ' primitive Bishop ' than any other prelate I
have seen. I was perhaps the only Protestant in the
place who, in intercourse with him, used the terms due
in courtesy to his rank ; but he met nobody (as he
knew very well) less likely to become a ' convert.'

Other departures.

Jenny Lind (November), good soul, with music in
it as well as in her voice, whom I much longed to meet
in private life, but never did. I saw her in Norma,
Sonnambula, Lucia, Figlia del Reggimento. In a juvenile
Universal Reformer mood I wrote and sent her a letter,
urging her to leave the stage, as a profession unworthy
her naively noble character. This was at Dublin.

Old Miss Gillies (July) the water-colour painter ;
in her earlier days a friend of various literary people,
among others of the Howitts, when they lived at
Highgate.

Dr. Quain (September), doctor and diner-out, ready
to doctor literary people and artists for nothing,
pleasant and talkative. Last time I saw him was at
Emerson's lodging in Down Street, Piccadilly.

Richard Jefferies (August) — I never saw him, but
had much correspondence with him (then quite un-
known) when I edited Fraser. I put in various pieces
of his, as good as anything he afterwards wrote, but no
one took any notice ; save indeed that Barbara L. S. B.
was struck with the truth of his picture or photograph
of women in the farming classes.

CHAPTER XXIII

1888-1889

January 1888. — Witley — More than half the first
month of the New Year has already slipped away.

Alternate frosts and thaws. Great fogs in London,
etc., and greatish even here. Ice on Sweetwater Pond.
Helen sitting out to paint whenever she possibly can.

Hear good reports from Catherine, Jane, John also.

One Wednesday Lady Wolseley called on us, also
Mrs. Mangles and others.

Mary Carlyle sends me Academy with notice of
Irish Songs — well-meant, but ' cheeky ' and blundering.
The writer (a law student T) wrote to me, begging a
copy of the D.G.R. woodcut.

Helen and I discuss Hampstead [with a view to
going there to live]. Feel low and unsettled.

February 8. — Mild and vernal — abundant snowdrops
and violets — aconites too, and crocuses in bud.

February 11. — H. and I to London, to Mr. Stewart
Hodgson's, I South Audley Street ; dinner, drive to
Lyceum — Winter s Tale ; Mary Anderson's grace
and beauty, with a talcing naivete. (Must not Lady
Hamilton have been something like her .^) Her voice
sweet, enunciation deliberate ; no thrills, but all well
studied and well done.

Sunday^ April i. — A spring day. Walk with Helen
and the children down lane — to Moorev's Gate, and
into copse — bare trees, dark blue distances, fresh cool

371

372 WITLEY 1888

air, some sun, a few primrose tufts. Children out in
garden after tea with great delight, at battle-dore, etc.

May 10. — Dry but clouded, and distances dim. Mr.
and Mrs. Forbes,^ with Edith and Waldo, by 12.50
train. Garden, luncheon. Walk, Haslemere Lane,
copse crowded with primroses, wood anemones, violets,
Mrs. Forbes delighted. Nightingale sings. Home,
tea — we talked of Emerson, Cabot's Life, etc.

May 17. — On common. At home. Find Webb,"^
come over from Cranleigh. Together to Guildford.
See Almshouses — which he likes.

June 4. — To London. National Liberal Club.
Terrace, and saw Prince of Wales unveil statue of Sir
B. Frere (looked most appropriate when standing before
the public in its white sheet). Princess and daughters,
Old Duke of Cambridge, Archbishop of Canterbury,
Lord Knutsford, Sir Richard Temple, etc.

June 8. — Irish Exhibition. To Queen Anne's Lodge.
James Knowles's house full of fine things. J. K., wife
and daughter, Lucy Taylor, Lady Pollock, Helen. Tea.
Portrait of Gladstone : Claude — Turner, etc. Urn (ashes
and bits of bones).

June 9. — To Whitley Stokes's ; W. S. cordial.

To 40 Kensington Square. Sir John and Lady Simon.
Dinner. Marcus Aurelius — Lady S. prefers ' that old-
fashioned and despised book, the Bible.' Sir John agrees
with me that it is desirable to inculcate morals without
dogma. Ruskin : Simon attended him some years ago.

Sunday^ June 10. — To 29 De Vere Gardens — Up-
stairs, tapestry, bust of E. B. B., one of R. B. (young).

Enter R. B., friendly and vigorous. He asked me,
Did I often come up to town ?

' Very seldom.'

On which he remarked ( I think premeditatedly), that in
his early life he had much secluded himself, and had often
since regretted it. He sees that he lost much by it.^

1 Emerson's daughter. ^ Mr. Philip Webb the architect.

3 This remark of Browning's chimed in with what was often in Ailing-
ham's mind. Although fond of the country, he had keenly missed there

LONDON

373

Then he took up a book from the table, Oannes, an
Ancient Myth^ as told by Berosiis^ by J. Garth Wilkinson.

' Here's a thing has been sent to me ' — and read half
a page or so (without spectacles, I noticed), to the
purport that in remote times a creature, half man and
half fish, came to a certain island, and taught the
islanders various arts — his name was Oannes.'

W. A. — 'It might be taken as a foreshadowing
of Darwinism — the origin of man in an amphibious
lepidosyren.'

B, — ' Yes, altogether different from Wilkinson's
notions.'

W. A. — ' A gentleman whom the Vicar of Wake-
field met was fond of quoting Berosus.'

B. (smiling). — ' Ay, sir, the world is in its dotage.'

Then we talked a little about Darwin, B. saying
that, whatever his merits as investigator, his philosophy
was of little or no importance.

I told him of our neighbour Alfred Wallace, and
how he had arrived, as it were, at the opposite goal from
Darwin in what are called ' Supernatural questions ' ; D.
at last believing almost nothing, W. almost anything !

Miss Rehan in Shrew — I praise her. B. going to
meet her at lunch at Boughton's next Sunday. We
talk of plays and actors.

B. says — ' The acting of my four plays by pro-
fessionals, unpaid^ for the Browning Society, is surely
one of the greatest and most wonderful honours ever
paid to a dramatic writer. People burning to have
their plays produced — paying to have them produced ;
if something even of Tennyson's is to be done you
hear of the curtain's costing ^2000 ! and here in my
case the actors play for love, and give every word of the
longest parts, and the audience listen to the very end ! '

the intellectual life and interests of London. He had made the move to
Witley chiefly on account of his wife and children — and never regretted it.
But now that the education difficulty made another change desirable (for
he wished to avoid boarding-schools if possible), his thoughts turned again
towards London.

374 LONDON 1888

Miss Alma Murray, he maintains, is the most
poetical actress now on the stage ; her Beatrice, in The
Cenci^ thrilling ; at the end she appears, and is,
exhausted and barely able to speak. Vezin as the
wicked count, most admirable.

B. reckons up the four Plays — In a Balcony^ The
Blot in the 'Scutcheon^ Colombe^s Birthday, and they're
going to do The Return of the Druses.

' Charles Kean accepted Colombe's Birthday, but said
he couldn't bring it out for two years, and I declined
to hold it over so long. He wanted the name of the
play altered to The Advocate ofCleves. " You've got the
best part, Ellen," he said to his wife, " but the play
must be called The Advocate of devest '

In quitting the subject B. said, ' the Theatre is a
great force ; but its conditions need to be entirely
altered.'

W. A. — ' Would a subsidised Theatre be any good
in England? '

B. — ' Not the least ! '

B. ate as usual a hearty dinner-luncheon, talking all
the time — what a man !

B, — ' C. said many things that I mentally dissented
from, and he said something about a certain lady
(E. B. B. I knew this was) which was reported to me
and made me, for a time, hold aloof from him altogether.
But I feel towards him as John Forster did to Landor :
Landor used sometimes to write most unreasonable
and exasperating letters to Forster, and one day that I
was with Forster and he had been talking of Landor
almost with indignation, he suddenly exclaimed " If he
were standing here before me — I'd hug the old man ! "
— and so would I Carlyle.'

In saying this B. hugged me closely with his broad
chest and strong arms, and laughed merrily. The
notion of his being seventy-six !

B. — ' He called one day at Warwick Crescent when
I was out, and said from his carriage window to my

LONDON

375

sister, " I should like to see him once more." ' (I
believe I was with C. in the carriage that day.)

B. — ' The last time I went to Cheyne Row his niece
said he was not speaking to any one, but I might go
up and see him. He was lying on the sofa, wrapt
in a shawl. I stooped over him and said a word
or two, and he put his arm round my neck. That was
all.'

In going away both B. and his sister asked me
repeatedly and warmly to come soon again — any day
I chose.

Up through Kensington Gardens to Hyde Park,
very fresh and green, and on to Zoological Gardens,
where I saw a monkey with artificial flowers snatched
from a hat, fourteen crocodiles, young kangaroo getting
into mother's pouch, etc.

As I sat in shady nook by the water-fowl, reading a
newspaper, Mr. Stewart Hodgson accosted me, and
we had some pleasant chat — he had heard we were going
to leave Sandhills.

Walk to Hampstead Road — train ; people with
branches of hawthorn ; 1 8 Gay ton Road.

Mrs. Paterson, and Carrie and H. — We take a look
at Lested Lodge, garden tangled. — Walk to Adelaide
—Club.

Wrote to-day at Club a note to Miss Rehan, signed
An old Playgoer, entreating her not to greet the audience
after sweeping in round the stage in a passion on her
first appearance in The Shrew.

Monday^ June ii. — To 'Gaiety' and get four
tickets. Show Helen the Club — with her to National
Gallery, then to Stores and lunch. Mrs. Woolner
a:costs me. To Lady Dorothy Nevill's — her curiosities,
Walpole miniatures, Sussex fire-irons, etc., own portrait
by Watts. Lady Warwick and daughter — pleasant —
Dine at Gatti's, ' Gaiety' — Clara and Carrie waiting ;
Upper boxes — Taming of the Shre-vu. Enjoved and
admired Miss Rehan much.

376 WITLEY 1888

N.B. — She swept in round the stage and took no
notice of the audience : Brava !

Tuesday, June 12. — Train — Witley 5.20 ; all well,
much the better for my trip to London.

June 17. — Sandhills. Walk by Park Lane and
steep wood to Hindhead, touch Cross at 4 o'c/ock
precisely ; two boys and a girl selling ginger-beer. Cold
wind.

Hennessy and F. Pollock appear. To Tyndall's,
meet Mrs. Clifford at door — in.

Tyndall, Mrs. Tyndall, and her mother, mild and
handsome. Friend (who came on bicycle from Albury)
with pleasant out-of-door face.

Apparent size of the moon — Tyndall said, 'Spedding
said the full moon looked to him the size of a three-
penny bit ; I told him it looked to me the size of
a ; dinner plate, but he couldn't believe it. I was
travelling from Vienna on a fine moonlight night with
Hooker and Mrs. Hooker, and we said how large each
of us thought the moon appeared to be, Mrs. Hooker
said the size of sixpence. Hooker the size of half-a-
crown, I the size of a dinner plate.'

Tyndall took us to top of house, snuggery and large
outside balcony or platform. I said as we stept oi;t,
' This expands the soul.'

He. — ' That's just what I feel — both here and in the
Alps.'

He leaned back over the balcony rail while talking,
in a rather dangerous looking way. Downstairs ar.d
away. When at gate, saw close by, walking along the
heath, two brown bears, with them five men, seemingly
foreigners. Walk home, by Southern lane and copses
— beautiful walk.

June 23. — Waggonette to Hindhead — Helen and
I with Mrs. Flight. I walk up steep wood — the
Cross, schoolgirls running about. Distance misty.
Drive to Mrs. Clifford's — friendly and pleasant.

To Tyndall's — I introduce Mrs. Flight as widow

i888 WITLEY 377

of Dr. Flight ^ and cousin of Du Bois Reymond.
' Walter Flight r Oh, I knew him intimately.' Speaks
with interest to Mrs. F. — ' dear Du Bois ' — takes her and
Helen to top of house. Away, T. comes to gate with
us ; ' Dr. Martineau — we have exchanged some shrewd
blows, but I don't think he hates me ! '

I walk home from Hindhead by Witley Park
copses, lovely — but oaks stript by caterpillars.

Weather turns cold and rainy. Ill and rather
miserable for about a week.

Going on with proofs of Flower Pieces, etc.
July 5. — Hire pony from Luff, of King's Arms.
Wet — wet — wet, with a gleam now and again : almost
literally

June,
Without a sun or moon !

July, August,
Many a raw gust.

July 12. — Ride round by Sweetwater Pond — pick
chantarelles. Have not had a ride for sixteen years !

Friday, July 13. — Ride Jenny to Aldworth. Party
in flower garden, T,, Hallam, Miss Ritchie and friend.
Tea, talk of Clifford— his mathematical paradoxes.
Tennyson goes in with Miss Ritchie ' to read a new
poem.' I ride home ; not stiff or tired — did me good.

July — . — I saw the Duke of Argyll at railway station,
and Hallam T., who asked us to come up to-day. We
drove to Aldworth. I showed some chantarelles gathered
in the lane, Duke knew them, handed them on to T.,
who sent them to cook with directions. ' Silos ' : farmers
slow to take to them.

T. tells of old Lincolnshire farmer near his father's.

T. said to him one day civilly : ' Mr. why don't

you mend your fences .^ ' The old fellow stooped down
and tied his shoe carefully, then straightened himself and
said, ' I've never mended a fence, and I never will ! '

1 Walter Flight, D.Sc.(Lond.), F.R.S., analytical chemist in British
Museum. He had studied under Tyndall at Queenwood College.

378 WITLEY 1888

[Tennyson had a story of a Lincolnshire farmer who
said, when he came out of church — ' burned for ever
and for ever ! I can't beUeve that : no constitution
could stand it ! ']

Wednesday^ August 8. — Mrs Humphry Ward visits
us, looks at drawings — asks us for Sunday week.

Sunday^ August 19. — H. and I drive to Borough
Farm, heather bloom. Tea-party at door, outside, Mrs.
Humphry Ward, Mr. Ward, Miss Sellars (tall and
beautiful), and Mr. Henry James. The Anglo-American
Novelist had just arrived from London, and was going
back by a late train.

He described himself as an ' unmitigated Cockney,'
was surprised at the colour of the heather, and hearing
ling spoken of, asked to look at it.

While we were at tea, a flock of sheep, herded by
a long-limbed half-wild looking girl of fourteen,
streamed down the green-sward track just in front of
us, between an old weed-grown wall and some grassy
knolls, with a great ash tree and two or three other
trees : a picture. The pony, still in the shafts, grazed
peaceably. 'Tis a beautiful wild place — much vext by
the rifle-range close by.

Saturday^ August 25. — Ride to Blackdown, in lane
meet Tennyson carriage. He with Miss Boyle and
Hallam, who says, ' we were going to you.^ I ride after
them. Find Miss B. seated in our garden, T. wander-
ing in the field. ' I wonder you can leave this place.'

Take him in and show him some drawings, which
he likes.

' That's Carlyle — looking very grumpy.'

Tea in garden. He admires the tall mullein. I bring
up Emerson's comparison of Salisbury spire to the great
mullein. T. grunted, and said * This doesn't taper.'

I gave him a white rose, and said ' Perhaps the ladies
would rather have jasmin.'

T. — ' You called me Jasmin, once.'

I said ' I don't think you were quite satisfied with it.'

1888 ALD WORTH 379

T. murmured something which I took to mean, ' No,
— not satisfied with it.'

I said jasmin grew on a cottage I lived in when a
child, and it had most delightful associations in my
mind.

While looking at a drawing with daffodils, T. said
' Millais put daffodils along with wild -roses in his
Ophelia picture. I pointed this out to him. He said
he had painted the rose-bush from nature ; and some
time after when he was finishing he wanted a bit of
yellow and sent to Covent Garden and got the daffodils.
I told him it was quite wrong.'

I took T. part way up the path on our common to
see the view and showed him his own hill ; ' this is a
beautiful country,' he said.

In shaking hands with me he said ' I don't think I
shall do the " Banshee." You have done one } '

' Yes, and published it lately in a volume.'

' I've not seen it. I'm so much obliged to you for
not sending it to me — get heaps every day.'

I said ' Oh, I promised long ago never to send you
anything.'

Miss Boyle and I laughed.

September i. — To Aldworth, find Tennyson in
garden, reading Times — 'going to station to meet
Mary Anderson.'

He tells of old Monsieur C, one hundred and two
yesterday, how he eats and sleeps.

In carriage with T., Hallam and Miss Boyle.

I show him chantarelles gathered in the lane, he
wishes to taste them. ' I have a fine taste in matters
of cooking,' he remarked. His cook would not cook
the ones I gave him before — ignored them. T. asks
me to go and reason with the cook, which I decline,
not having a personal acquaintance with her. Station —
T. walks off towards the village, I with him. He tells
me Miss A. is going to give The Cup in Birmingham
and Dublin. Carriage overtakes us with the lovely

38o WITLEY isss

Mary in dark-blue cotton dress, her healthy brown
complexion un-actress like — presented, and have a hand-
shake and a smile, (They will discuss and try over The
Cup.) Home.

Monday^ September 3. — H. and I drive to Grays-
wood — Mr, Pratten's house, Miss Swanwick comes out
to hall door to welcome us ; room with fine prospect,
east, over trees. Enter Mrs. Stewart Hodgson and
Mrs. Forsyth, talk on literature, etc.

Browning told Miss Swanwick he knew nothing
about the Sonnets from the Portuguese till two or three
years after his marriage, when his wife showed them to
him. He said to her, ' If I consulted my personal
wishes I should keep these all to myself, but as the
guardian of your literary fame I must counsel you to
publish them.'

Monday, September 10. — I to Hampstead, to the
Carlyles, 23 Rudall Crescent.

Tuesday, September 1 1 . — Mrs. Paterson calls. Eldon
House. Like it.

Thursday, September 13. — Hampstead — telegram
from H., ' Coming up by first train.' To Eldon House,
which she takes to by degrees. Home.

Friday, September 14. — Sandhills — fine ; ride pony.
Lea Park, moor near Hammer Pond ; meet boys, one of
whom lifts hand with switch in it to Jenny's nose.
She starts violently, flings me oi¥" and kicks left arm —
gallops off. Back and arm hurt.^

Tuesday, September 18. — Fine, common, H. painting.
Splendid views of Hindhead and Weald ; harvesting.
Country lovely. Miss Tynan sends me criticism from
Providence Journal — 'The Poet of Ballyshannon.'
(non-national, how sad !)

Thursday, September 20. — Write to take my name o^
list of subscribers to Haslemere Commons Committee.

Friday, October 26. — Gap of over a month in diary.

1 Allingham was inclined to connect this accident with the illness which
attacked him later.

1888 WITLEY 381

In London with H. (at B. Martineau's) for several
days. Hampstead looks pleasant.

Spell of fine October weather — expeditions with
Gerald to Hog's Back, Merrow, East Clandon, to
Selborne, Woolmer Forest, etc.

Tennyson has had very severe attack of gout — a
nurse — confined to his room. We were invited to tea,
and a note from Hallam put us off.

Heard he v/as better, then — a relapse.

Saturday^ October 27. — Mrs. Graham Robertson and
her son appear. They look round ; H. comes in from
fir-wood. They drive round by Brook, return, and take
the place [Sandhills],

Thursday^ November i. — Rain or drizzle all day.
H. drives with Gerald to visit Mrs. Ramsden, Miss
Jekyll, Mrs. Longman ; home after dark. I writing,
sharpening penknives ; dance with children.

Friday^ November 2. — Reading Troilus and Cressida
to H. Shakespeare's hand in it, but not his play :
poor in some parts, loaded in others : a re-cooking of
familiar matter, with Shakespeare sauce.

Saturday^ November 3. — To Haslemere by train,
walked up to Aldworth among the yellowing trees ;
met Mrs. Tennyson driving F. Palgrave to the station.

Up to study, and found T. leaning back on a chair,
his legs on another, thin and pale ; he gave me his
brown hand and said ' I'm glad to see you.'

He had a book in his hand, and the light of two
candles close by fell on the right side of his face, which
showed striking and noble. He wore a black skull-cap,
his long Don Quixote nose was sharply outlined, his
moustache looked dark and full. By general impression
one might have guessed him seventy rather than eightv.
He said, ' I have been in the doctor's hands — been very
ill — never had such a time of it in my life ! — gout and
rheumatic fever.'

Zola — his question ' How can a book corrupt } '

Martial — ' Leigh Hunt said a boy found out in vice

382 HAMPSTEAD 1889

might ask " Why did you put such books into my
hands?" Are these books necessary for the learning
of Latin ? '

Tennyson. — ' There might be purified editions.'

November 19. — H. and I to London. I to consult
Mr. G. Buckston Browne. He finds an enlarged gland,
and indigestion. Am I henceforth an invalid } ah me !

November 30 to December 8. — H. paying many calls,
people all kind and friendly.

A beautiful dream : a garden with a pear-tree and
an apple-tree, both in blossom : slope of sward and
inexpressible happiness — (reminiscence of early child-
hood). Glad that I can be thus happy even in a
dream.

First year of Old Age, I fear ! Has the unwelcome
guest really come at last, and to stay ^ We never
realise beforehand what old means, or how the old itol.

[It was not old age, for Allingham was not yet sixty-
five : the feeling he speaks of was caused by the malady
from which he was afterwards found to be suffering.]

Sunday^ December 9. — Walk, Evey and I ; Park
Lane, Banacle, golden sunset light ; Hindhead a blue
jewel ; Venus, evening star ; long band of orange light
along south. Feel rather better.

Tuesday, December 11. — Good-bye to Sandhills, after
seven and a half peaceful, on the whole happy, years.
H. and children at 3 Eldon Road — I to 23 Rudall
Crescent, Alick and Mary Carlyle, Tommy and
Oliver. All very kind. Much talk about Carlyle —
' a treat (Mary says) to have somebody to talk about
him to.'

Wednesday, December 19. — To Eldon House. Sleep
there for the first time.

1889

January 3. — In the house since December 31
(bronchitis seized me all at once).

1889 EASTBOURNE 383

January 12. — Take Gerald to University College
School.

January 20. — I call several times at Miss Eade's,
Well Walk, for Henny and Evey about 12.30, we walk
on Heath.

February i. — To U. C. School Concert, 4. Gerald
and I sit in front.

March 14. — This book has not been opened since
February 3. I have no wish to keep the diary of an
invalid. I am sometimes better, often worse ; on the
whole going down-hill in strength, and with fresh
troubles coming on top of the others. Every day is a
weary trial, and every night a worse one.

I had a very curious dream whose floating imagery
evades every cast of the net of language. I thought I
found myself somehow, by merely looking aside, aware
of some of the main secrets of Nature's material work-
shop. There was no tinge of atheistic feeling. Merely,
I saw a little below the superficial appearance of things,
and found the methods by which forms are innumerably
varied and sent on their courses to be so simple and
obvious that I smiled at myself with a sort of impatience
at not having seen all this before. A pleasurable
satisfaction remained after I had awaked and said to
myself ' This is the haschisch.'

[Of another night he writes : — ]

The curtain of darkness fell on my brain tor perhaps
a couple of hours — too, too short ! I have not had a
sound night's rest for ever so long.

Prayer

O Great One ! may my dear Wife and Children and
myself not forget Thee — ever draw nigher to Thee !
May we keep our hearts pure !

[The illness increased. In April Allingham was
told by Mr. Browne that there was serious internal

384 HAMPSTEAD 1889

trouble ; and it became so acute, early in June, that
immediate operation was necessary.

This saved his life for the moment, and brought
some temporary relief: he gradually became able to
take short walks around his house in Hampstead.

He had been specially interested in tracing the
different localities connected with Keats : and in his
note-book is the following little poem.]

POET AND BIRD

Per contra

(In a Hampstead Garden)

' Thou wert not born for death, immortal Bird !
No hungry generations tread thee down ; '

Keats : Ode to a Nightingale.

A Nightingale, upon a time,

Here tried his tone :
Here, too, a Poet made a rhyme :

Bird — Poet — gone !

Trivial at best the Bird's gay song,

{A shapeless trill :
The Poet's rhyme will last as long
As Hampstead Hill.

"July 12, 1889. — The house and garden are still to be seen
in John Street, Hampstead, on the left-hand as you go up from
Hampstead Heath railway station.

[In August AUingham went with his family to
Eastbourne, and here he seemed at first to be a
little better. During these weeks he would get up at
four, sometimes even at three o'clock, to watch the
sunrise, and the following, written at this time, is the
last of his poems.]

1889 HAMPSTEAD 385

SUNRISE AT EASTBOURNE

A Photograph

Dim sea, dim sky, — a level streak or two, —

A gradual flush in the chilly atmosphere, —

What flames upon that eastern head ? The Sun !

A blazing point — a hemisphere — full orb —

Laying a road of gold across the wave.

Gilding wet glossy sands, green-swarded cliffs,

Fresh-flowing tide-streams, far-off" sails, tower-clouds.

Till wide-spread heaven, as lifts the Globe of Fire,

Is fill'd with yellow light, and Day rules all.

Two Shrimpers, black amid the radiancy.

Pushing their nets along the ripple's verge.

These are the only life ; our silent Town,

With smokeless chimneys, glittering window-panes.

Still sunk in torpor and fantastic dreams.

Town after Town along this English coast.

And down the shore of France, awakes in turn :

Thousands of ships, unpausing day or night.

Of every country bathed by the salt flood.

Slide smooth between them, each upon its course,

As rolling Earth on hers, and I on mine.

And each on his of all my fellowmen.

Wish Tower Hill, August lo, 1889,
4.30-5 A.M.

[The improvement in health was, alas, but for the
time. After his return home on September 5, he slowly
grew worse. Sometimes the trouble seemed almost too
great to be borne : but, now and again, there were
moments when he could detach himself from the present,
as it were, and feel an interest, even write a little, about
outside matters.

For some time past he had been revising his poems
for a final edition, of six volumes — most of which had,
by now, appeared — also preparing his prose writings
for press.]

October 23. — I resume writing here after a long
interval.

2 C

386 HAMPSTEAD 1889

Du Maurier has visited me often in the evening,
and given me a pleasant hour's talk. He is better
read, I imagine, in French than in English literature.

One night he read to me from Les Femmes Savantes.
He thinks the scene of the two Poets, Trissotin and
Vadius, the funniest thing in Moliere.

He has nearly finished a story, one volume size.
The hero acquires a power of regulating and continu-
ing his dreams. In Dreamland he often meets a lady
whom he has fallen in love with. He discovers that she
has similar dreams, and meets him in her Dreamland.
At length they find themselves able to communicate
with each other in Dreamland. She dies : he dies in
a lunatic asylum, leaving behind this narrative, ' Edited
by G. du M.' I strongly advise him to intersperse
plenty of sketches up and down the pages, and to offer
it first, tentatively, to Harper.

I have had visits also from Harvey Orrinsmith :
William Herford and his niece, Evelyn Herford : F. G.
Stephens and his wife : Mr. Clayton — very agreeable
and sympathetic man, lover of poetry and art. He
began by recalling the time, nearly forty years ago,
when he used to meet me at the P.R.B. evenings. Says
he readily recollects my features and voice. Stephens
and Mrs. S. came the same Sunday evening, and we had
an harmonious tea-table in the dining-room. I read to
them ' The Spinster's Sweet'arts,' and when done found
that du M. had slipt silently into the room during the
reading.

October 25. — Du M. came in about half-past six.
We talked of his story. I cannot find that he himself
has the least belief in the possibility, even the imagin-
ative possibility, of the ground -motive of it. He
regretted he could not now read Shakespeare, the time
was past. Much-talked-of poets he looks into, as
part of the social life of the day, and greatly admires
Tennyson.

He lives in an atmosphere of conventional London

x889 HAMPSTEAD 387

society and comic literature, mingled. Yet there is a
deeper stratum in his mind than that which is amused
and affected by these ; and he is an honourable fine-
natured man, with various accomplishments — not speak-
ing of his art genius — and great charm of manner. His
descriptions of character, when it comes within his range,
are keen and very neatly put.

[This is the last entry in the diary.

During the year, and especially in these last months,
the intimate friendship of Mr. and Mrs. Alexander
Carlyle was a constant help and comfort.

Mr. Briton Riviere would often come in for a little
quiet talk ; also many other old friends.

The kindness and attention of his doctor, Mr.
Buckston Browne, was untiring.

Here a note, taken from among Allingham's memo-
randa, seems to find a fitting place.

' I care for my old diaries for the sake of the Past,
the sad, sacred, happy Past, whose pains, fears, sorrows,
have put on the calm of eternity, — mysterious Past, for
ever gone, for ever real, whose footsteps I see on every
page, invisible to other eyes ! '

In November fresh complications arose in his illness,
and, with these, an ever-increasing weakness, although
he kept his bed only for about a week.

On Sunday the 17th it was evident that the end was
very near.

When asked if he had any requests to make, he
said ' No, my mind is at rest ' : then to his wife

'"And so, to where I wait, come gently on."

' I thank you (to Mr. Buckston Browne) — I thank
every one.'

After this he lay in a kind of trance, and died peace-
fully about two o'clock in the afternoon of the next
day, November the i8th.

388

HAMPSTEAD

Once that morning he said, ' I am seeing things that
you know nothing of.'

The cremation, which was by his special wish, took
place at Woking.

A few friends and relations only were present.

There was no service : Mr. F. G. Stephens, the
oldest of the friends there gathered together, read aloud
Allingham's own Poet's Epitaph : —

' Body to purifying flame,
Soul to the Great Deep whence it came.
Leaving a song on earth below,
An urn of ashes white as snow.'

The urn was buried in the churchyard at Bally-
shannon.

' No funeral gloom, my dears, when I am gone,
Corpse-gazings, tears, black raiment, grave-yard grimness ;
Think of me as withdrawn into the dimness,
Yours still, you mine, remember all the best
Of our past moments, and forget the rest ;

And so, to where I wait, come gently on.']

LIST OF WORKS

Published in

1850. Poems. Dedicated 'To Leigh Hunt, Esq.' (Chapman and Hall.)

/ 1854 and 1855. T/ie Music Master^ alcove Story, and two series of Day
'^ and Night Songs. With nine woodcuts, seven designed by

Arthur Hughes, one by D. G. Rossetti, and one by John E.
Millais, A.R.A. (Routledge and Co.)

i860. Day and Night Songs ; anAThe Music Master. A Love Poem. With
nine woodcuts (as above). 'This little volume comprises, along
with the Day and Nig/it Songs of the writer, published in 1854, a
second series of short poems, and a narrative composition. Some
of these appeared in a volume published in 1850, and since with-
drawn, some in periodicals ; others are now added, and all have
been carefully revised. T/ie Music Master, in particular, is perhaps
nearly entitled to be considered as a new poem' (from Preface).
(Bell and Daldy.)

^ i860. Nightingale Valley. A collection, including a great number of the
choicest lyrics and short poems in the English language Edited
by Giraldus. (Bell and Daldy.)

1862. Reissue oi Nightingale Valley. A collection of choice lyrics and short
poems. From the time of Shakespeare to the present day. Edited
by William Allingham. (Bell and Daldy.)

1864. Laurence Bloomfield in Ireland. A modern poem. This poem first
appeared in Frasers Magazine, and is now presented much revised
and partly rearranged (from Preface). (Macmillan and Co.)

Fifty Modern Poems. 'ToA. F.' (Bell and Daldy.)

A new issue of Laurence Bloomfield in Ireland ; or The New Land-
lord. (Macmillan and Co.)

The Ballad Book. A selection of the choicest British ballads. Edited
by William Allingham. (Macmillan and Co.)

Rambles by Patricius Walker. Dedicated 'To Mr. and Mrs.
W. H. Forbes.' (Longmans, Green and Co.)

Songs, Ballads, and Stories, including many now first collected, the
rest revised and rearranged. (George Bell and Sons.)

Ashby Manor. Dedicated 'To my Wife.* And E'vil May Day.
Dedicated 'To my Children.' (Longmans, Green and Co.)

1865.

1869.

•/

1872.

1873.

1877.

1882.

LIST OF WORKS 391

Published in

1884. Day and Night Songs. Dedicated ' To my Friends ' (a new edition).
And Blackberries, picked oft' many bushes by D. PoUex and others :
put in a basket by W. Allingham. (G. Philip and Son.)

1886. Rhymes for the Young Folk. Dedicated 'To Gerald, Eva and Little

Henry, and others like them.' With pictures by Helen Allingham,
Kate Greenavvay, Caroline Paterson, and Harry Furniss. (Cassell
and Co., Ltd.)

1887. Irish Songs and Poems, with nine airs harmonised for voice and

pianoforte. (Reeves and Turner.)

1888. Floiver Pieces and Other Poems. Dedicated 'To Dante Gabriel

Rossetti, whose early friendship brightened many days of my life,
and whom I never can forget.* With two designs by Dante
Gabriel Rossetti. Laurence Bloomjield. Dedicated to Samuel
Ferguson. (Reeves and Turner.)

1892. New edition of The Ballad Book, Golden Treasury Series. Edited

by William Allingham. (Macmillan and Co.) I

1^.--t893. Varieties in Prose, including 'Rambles by Patricius Walker,* and 11

i«^ Essays, now first collected. A portrait of the Author is in Vol. L | I

(Longmans, Green and Co.)

The collected edition of Allingham's Poems in six volumes
(sold separately or in the set) : —

Irish Songs and Poems, with nine airs (as above), and photograph of the

Waterfall of Asaroe.
Laurence Bloomjield, or Rich and Poor in Ireland, with portrait of the Author.

Floijoer Pieces-. Day and Night Songs: Ballads. With two designs by D. G.
Rossetti. (Some copies on large paper.)

Life and Phantasy, with frontispiece by Sir John E. Millais, R.A., and design
by Arthur Hughes. (Some copies on large paper.)

Thought and Word, and Ashby Manor, a Play in two Acts. With portrait
of the Author (1865), and four theatrical scenes drawn by Mrs. Alling-
ham. (Some copies on large paper.)

Blackberries. (Longmans, Green and Co.)

INDEX

Abyssinia, King Theodore's son Alamayu,

183, 184, 185, 187, 189
Agricultural labourers in 1872, 209
Aide, Hamilton, and Mrs. Aide, 103,

109, 131, 170, 180, 200, 265
Aldworth, Lord Tennyson's house on

Blackdown, Surrey, 201, 287, 297,

33Si 338

Allingham, Miss Catherine, 69 j letters
to, 70, 72, 34.1, 371 ; Sister Jane, 46,
341, 371 ; Brother John, 14, 31, 321,
341, 371 ; Uncle John and Cousins,
46, 1 14 5 present members of the
family in Ireland, 341 ; origin of family
suggested to be Ellingham, Hants, 145

Allingham, Mrs. (Helen), married to,
2335 portraits and drawings by, 240,
266, 267, 271, 275, 287, 301, 302,

3.09' 3i9» 338, 346, 361, 365
Allingham, William, his autobiography,
1-34 ; childhood, home, and youth in
Ballyshannon, 1-6, 10, 13, 22-28 ;
Father, 5, 7, 9, 21, 30, 31, 33, 39 ;
letters to, 69, 7 i, 79, 92, 116; anxiety
about Father's health, 133 ; his death,
144. Mother, her early death, 8, 9.
Paternal Grandmother, Aunts, and
their home, 10-12, 26, 27; his old
nurses, Kitty Murray, 25, Madge
M'Nulty, 116; school-days, 28, 29 j
bank-clerk, and early reading, 29 ;
first visit to London, 29, 30 j Officer
of Customs at Belfast, 31, 32;
Donegal, 32, 33

Diary begins, 34 ; holiday in
London, 34-39; Donegal, 39-42;
Ballyshannon, 33, 39, 43, 46 ; Dublin,
43, and Uncles, 46-49 ; Controller of
Customs at Ramsey, Isle of Man,
46, 49-51, 55-57; London, 51-55;
Ballyshannon, 57, 58 ; London, 59-
65 ; Sub -Controller of Customs at
Ballyshannon, 55, 66-69 > ^'^ studies
and character, 66-69 5 Coleraine, 69 ;

removes to London, 69, 71; meets
Nat. Hawthorne at Liverpool, 70 ;
renounces journalism, 72, 73 ; Customs
again at New Ross, 73 ; Ballyshannon,
74 ; friends in London, 75 ; at Paris,
76-78, and Weimar, Goethe's House,
78, 79 ; Customs in London, 79 ;
finally at Lymington, 81, 82. Diary
resumed, 82 ; attraction of and love
for Tennyson, 82, 83, 84, 329 ; visits
Tennyson at Farringford, 87-89, 97,
112; discontent with officialism, 95,
96; at Romsey, 98; London, 100-
106 ; musical party at Halle's, 103 ;
ethical reflections, 100, 114, 124, 144,
149 ; Vambery and his travels, 103,
104 ; makes tour in Wilts and Hants,
112; holiday in Ireland, 112-116;
lecture and visit in Dublin, 11 3-1 15 ;
introspective remarks, 114, 124, 166,
167, 200, 322 ; visit to Ballyshannon
and old friends, 116; Lymington,
1 17-124; visits to Tennyson and
friends, 117-120; to Portsmouth and
Spithead, 120-122 ; steam trip. Swan-
age, 122 ; charity and sympathy, 122,
123, 190, 191 ; London, studios and
Palmerston's funeral, 125, 126; at
Farringford with Rev. Wm. Barnes,
126-128; spring rambles near Lyming-
ton and Farringford, 131 ; at Lynd-
hurst with the Tennysons, 133-137 ;
to London, studios (Burne-Jones and
Rossetti), 137, 139; Carlyle, 138;
Burne-Joneses at Lymington, excur-
sions, 140-143; Winchester, 141,
142; London and old friends, 151-
153; summer and books in the
country, 152 ; excursion with Tenny-
son party to Spithead, 1 54 ; with
Tennyson to Dorchester and Lyme
Regis, 156-159; entertains D. G.
Rossetti, 160-162; visits him at
Chelsea, 164-166 ; desire for home

393

394

INDEX

life, 167, 175 ; lodgings at Freshwater,
167-169; London, 171-174; criticises
Browning's enigmatic genius, 174;
goes to the Derby, 181 ; visit to
Freshwater, 184, 185 ; on the long-
ing for Nature, 1S8; at Farringford,
189 ; feeling for Tennyson, 183, 190 j
Devonshire rambles, 201 ; visits
Tennyson at Blackdown, 201. Re-
moves to London, 202 ; Fraser's
Maga%i:ie, sub-editorship, 202 ; editor-
ship, 233 ; suggested resumption of
this by Froude, 254 ; later reflections
on editorship, 323 ; contrasts Carlyle
with Emerson, 220 ; with Emerson
and Browning at Kensington Museum,
220-221 ; describes Carlyle 's literary
genius and position, 230, 239 ; his
marriage and home, 233-234 ; his
three children, 241, 250, 255, 316;
' Sonny,' 250, 277, 284. His love for
Shelley, 242 ; keeps lock of Carlyle's
hair, 263 ; evening party at Tenny-
son's house in London 1878, 265 ;
summer at Shere, 265. Tourney
to Scotland, 277 ; Dumfries, 278 ;
Moffat, 279, 282, 283 J Lockerbie
and Ecclefechan, 280, 281. Summer
at Haslemere, 286, 301 ; Blackdown
and Tennyson's house, Aldworth,
287, 298 ; explains the Irish diffi-
culties to Tennyson, 297, 298. Old
friends in London, 307 ; feelings on
the death of Carlyle, 309. Family
removes to Sandhills, Witley, 311;
the country round, 311-313, 315,
316; recollections of Mr. and Mrs.
G. H. Lewes, 313, 314. Thoughts
upon belief in God, 316-318, 329;
stay in Hampstead, 322 ; country
pleasures in Surrey, 322; goes to
weddingof Hallam Tennyson, 323 ; re-
marks on William Morris's Socialism,
326, 339 ; admiration for passage in
Coleridge's ' Christabel,' 326; Mr,
A. R. Wallace and spiritualism, 329,
330, 333 ; afternoon with Tennyson
children and soap-bubbles, 331; on
the Irish and cruelty to animals, 346 ;
a broken diary, February to August
1886, 347; life at Witley, 348-350,
351, 354-358, 360-362; against war,
350; his pension, 351 ; in London,
friends there, Royal Academy, etc.,
352 ; Queen Victoria's Jubilee Pro-
cession, 359, 360; visit to Fleet at
Portsmouth, 361 ; garden party and
friends at Mrs.Simmons's, Shotter Mill,
362 ; stay at Poynton near Manchester,

attending British Association, 363 ;
excursion to Prestbury, Cheshire, 363,
364 ; notices of several deceased friends,

370 ; visits to London and friends,

371 ; to Robert Browning, 372-
375 j 3 garden party at Tennyson's,
Aldworth, 377. Beginning of his
last malady, discomfort, 382, 383 ;
farewell to Witley, removal to Hamp-
stead, 382 ; interest in Keats, and
poem, 384 ; visit to Eastbourne, 384 ;
last poem, 385. Diary interrupted
in March 1889, 383; resumed for
last time in October, 385 ; last entry,
visits of friends, and a note why he
cared for his diaries, 387. Peaceful
farewell, 387, 388

References to his poems and publica-
tions, 54, 55 ; first volume of ' Poems,'
60, 61, 67; at work on 'Day and
Night Songs,' 73; 'Music Master,'
74 ; ' Robin Redbreast,' 74 ; ' The
Ballad Book,' 85, 92, 97, 195 ; Fifty
Modern Poems, iii, 128; Hallow
Eve Chant, 40 ; By the Shore,
41; Fairy Song, 'Wee Folk,' 44;
Music Master, 46, 58 ; The Pilot's
Daughter, 54 ; The Touchstone,
58, 199, 222 ; Lady Alice, 58 ;
Flowers and Poets, 58 ; Day and
Night Songs, 73, 319 ; The Maids
of Elfin Mere, 74 ; Laurence Bloom-
field, 85, 86, 90, 95, 99, 181, 209;
characters in, 115, 116; Goodman
Dodd, 92 ; The Abbot of Inisfalen ;
Emily, 97 ; Homeward Bound, 117 ;
Nightingale Valley, 79, 127 ; Rambles
of Patricius Walker, 155, 193, 201,
220 ; Squire Curtis, 167, 175 ; Prince
Brightkin, 199, 200, 201 ; Black-
berries, 200, 319 ; In Fairyland, 201 ;
Seven Hundred Years Ago {Eraser),
254 ; Modern Prophets (Fraser), 257 ;
Statuette, 296 ; Songs, Ballads, and
Stories, 296, 30- ; Painter and Critic,
Ivy Leaves (Eraser), 307 ; An Evil
May Day, 307 ; ^sAby Manor, Hop-
good and Co., plays, 307 ; Mary
Donnelly, 336 ; Twelve Flower
Sonnets, 347 ; lines on Monckton
Milnes, 343, 360 ; The Banshee, 350,
379; 'Irish Songs,' 371; Poet and
Bird, 384; Sunrise at Eastbourne,
385 ; Poet's Epitaph, 388

Proposed History of Ireland, 138,

145, 152, 173, 209, 307; revised

issue of his Poems, 351, 366, 377, 385

AUingham, William, bust of, by Munro,

INDEX

395

Alma-Tadema, Sir Lawrence and Lady,

353
Andersen, Hans C, 37 ; described, 38
Anderson, Miss Mary, actress, 367, 371,

379, 380
Angell, Mrs. (Helen Coleman), 265
Annan, Carlyle at school at, 247 j river

and Annandale, 279
Antwerp, Carlyle's explanation of the

word, 264
Argyll, Duke of, 265, 288, 377
Armagh, Archbishop of, Daniel

M'Gettigan, friendly recollections of

him, 370
Armstrong, T., 195
Arnold, Matthew, 217, 288, 323
Art in writing, Carlyle on, 206 ; Tenny-
son on, 215
Ashburton, Louisa (Lady), 208, 228, 240
Athanasian Creed, 328

Bacon, Francis, Lord Verulam, Spedding's
Life of, 234; on innovations, 335

Baddesley, cottage struck by lightning,
'55> 161

Bain, Alexander, Professor of Logic in
Aberdeen, 233

Ballyshannon, description of the town
and country round it, i, 14-17 ; the
church on Mullinashee, 14, 15, 22-
24 ; the Moy, 15 ; Camlin Park, 18,
22 ; the Purt, 20 J its peaceable
character, 20, yet a military post, 18 j
outbreak of the ' Whiteboys,' 19, 20 j
Poorhouse, 41 5 incidents, 46 ; Fair,
58, 67 ; AUingham's last visit to,
144

Ballyshannon, History of, by Mr.
Hugh AUingham, 341

Banacle, near Witley, Surrey, 322, 354

Barnard, Mrs., 178

Barnes, Rev. William, poet, at Came
Vicarage, near Dorchester, 99, 156^'
157; lectures at Lymington, 10^
126; a true poet, 109; visits
Tennyson, 126-128 ; his death, 350

Barretts of Bruckless, Ireland, 39, 40

Barton, Captain, I2i

Baudelaire characterised, 331

Beales, Miss, 103

Beaulieu, 100, 133

Beauty and picturesqueness, 312

Beethoven, Carlyle on, 218 ; Tennyson
listens to, 292, 337

Belfast, 31, 75

Berkeley, Mr. Grantley, 108

Besant, Sir Walter, novelist, 353

Birmingham and friends there, 369

Bismarck, 138 ; letter to Carlyle on

'Frederick the Great,' 246} lights
on his character, 270
Black, William, novelist, 238
Blackdown, Surrey, view from, 338
Blake, William, his poems, 53, 349
Bodichon, Dr. and Madame (Barbara),
102 ; his plan for scientific homi-
cide, 358 ; Madame Bodichon, 307 ;
R. Jefferies appreciated by her, 370
Boldre, Hants, 82, 89 ; Gilpin's tomb

in the church, 162 {see Gilpin)
Boyce, G. P., R.W.S., 75
Boyle, Miss Audrey (Lady Tennyson),

323

Boyle, Miss Mary, 378, 379

Bradley, the Rev. George G., of Marl-
borough, afterwards Dean of West-
minster, 94, 323

Brains and heads, their sizes, 233

Bramhall, Cheshire, 364

Bray, William, of Shere, 267

Brett, John, R.A., 352

Bridport to Lyme Regis, a walk, 157

Broadlandi, near Romsey, Hants, 318

Broadstairs, 284

Brockenhurst, church and vicar, ' Paddy '
Falls, 140 ; Squire Morant, 144

Bronte, Charlotte, and 'Jane Eyre," 254

Brookfield, Mrs. W. H., 177, 178, 180

Brougham, Lord, Carlyle on his portrait
80 J 336

Brown, Ford Madox, 104, 112, 164,
18 1 ; his frescoes in Manchester, 364

Browne, G. Buckston, R.C.S., 382,

383, 387

Browning, Mrs. (Elizabeth Barrett), 40 ;
her ' Sonnets from the Portuguese,'
102, 380

Browning, Pen, painter, son of the poet,
100, loi, 264

Browning, Robert, 36, 37, 41, 57, 65,
100-102, 104, 128, 178, 179, 202.
205, 220, 223, 240, 265 ; death of
his Father, 137; his 'Christmas
Eve and Easter Day,' 57; 'Dram-
atis Personse,' 100; 'Sludge the
Medium,' i.e.. Home, 10 1 j amenities
at Warwick Crescent, 151, 173,
194; 'A Blot in the 'Scutcheon,'
174; visit to Russia, 179; 'Ring
and the Book,' 180, 181, J91, 195,
207 ; ' Red Cotton Night Cap
Country,' 224 ; visits Carlyle, 240,
268; 'Aristophanes' Apology,' 240,
the ' Inn Album,' 224 ; opinion of
Byron, and of Disraeli, 246, 250 ;
his dreams, 248 ; memory and music,
249; 'Agamemnon,' 257, 258, 260;
Tennyson on 'Clive,' 288-9; ^'*

396

INDEX

warm friendship for Carlyle, 310, 311,
374» 375 J 'Ivan Ivanovitch,' 314;
at Hallam Tennyson's wedding, 323 ;
his story of Fontenelle, 352 ; opinion
of Darwin, 373 ; his four plays acted
for the Browning Society, 373, 374
Browning, Miss Sarianna, 151, 173, 179,

375
Bruce, Austin, M.P., 182
Buckton, G. B., F.R.S., 330, 343, 362,

367

Burdon, Mr. C, 322

Burne- Jones, Sir Edward ('Ned'), 75,
79, 80, loi, 103, 104, III ; at
Kensington Square, 125, 139, 153,
195 ; conies with family to Lyming-
ton, 140-143 J his style a ' New
Renaissance,' 141 ; his studio, 125,
137, 153, 165; at Fulham, 174, 202,
307 ; his family there, 347

Burnett, Mr., Customs Officer, 171, 174

Burns, Robert, and brother Gilbert,
206, 284 ; his home and haunts in
Dumfries, 278 j poetry recited by
Carlyle, 279 ; Carlyle's talk of him,
of his death, and of his grave, 282,

283
Burrard, Sir Charles and Miss, no
Burton, Sir Frederick, loi, 201, 306
Butler, Mr. and Mrs., of Harrow, 94
Byron, some opinions of him, 132, 165,

187, 206, 246, 253, 295, 300, 337

Caldecott, Randolph, 321, 323
Cameron, Mrs., at Freshwater, 87, 93,

106, 117, 123, 127, 152, 153, 161,

163, 170, 182, 183, 185, 198; her

exhibition, 171
Campbell, Thomas, 64, 226, 236, 237,

305
Canada, Emerson upon, 217
Carleton, William, Irish writer, 324,

343
Carlyle, Alexander (' Alick '), 278, 279,

282, 285, 308, 382
Carlyle, Mrs. Alexander (Mary Carlyle

Aitken), 196, 202, 214, 219, 232,

235» 239. 255, 266, 267, 348, 359,

382, 387 ; at Moffat, married, 278 ;

devotion to the Uncle's last days, 306,

308-310; son Tommy, 308, 312
Carlyle, James, Father of Carlyle, 289,

305
Carlyle, James, Brother of Carlyle, and

Craigenputtock, 280, 281
Carlyle, Mrs. (Jane Welsh), 80, 137,

229, 232, 242
Carlyle, Dr. John, Brother of Carlyle,

209, 236, 263 J his illness, 278

Carlyle, Thomas, 36, 59, 73, 75, 82,
119, 165, 166; remarks on Keats,
41, 205, 310; letter from, at Eccle-
fechan, 59 j his garden, 79 ; on Lord
Brougham and Benj. Disraeli, 80, 81 ;
various talks, 138, 172, 209 ; on
education and criminals, 172 ; on
Parliament, 182; on Browning's
'Ring and Book,' 194, 207; valua-
tion of his own writings, 196 ; of
Sartor, 230; on Taine's book, 213;
on Plato, 213, 243 ; on Socrates and
Voltaire, 213; on the stars, religion,
and nature, 215, 216, 239, 264;
Allingham his Boswell, 202 ; re-
ligious views, 196, 203, 206, 238,
239, 256, 273 ; firm belief in God,
262, 264, 268, 274 ; his Scotch re-
collections, 205, 207, 208, 219, 226,
253; college days, 232; recalls his
first journey to Edinburgh, 279.
Literary and philosophical talk, 205 ;
early reading, 205 ; on Shakespeare,
206, 210, 214, 247, 252, 275, 286 ;
on Thackeray, 208 ; on Browning,
205, 207, 209, 240, 244 J on Ireland,
209, 277 ; his ignorance of the
structure of verse, 210, 211 j on Don
{|)uixote, 212 ; on marriage, 2x2 ; dis-
like to formal religion, 2 17, 274 ; effect
of Scotch dogmatic Christianity upon
him, 232, 238, 253, 254; Mother's
distress at his unbelief, 253, 268 ;
abhors Darwinism, 224, 245, 248,
264, 274. Remarks on the Hare
family, 218 ; on Milton's poetry, 223 ;
his friendship with Emerson, 220,
224 ; his pipe and smoking, 222,
224, 237 ; in Germany, 225 ; his
German Diploma and Order, 227,
231. On death, 228, 267, 305, 308 ;
his labour on 'Frederick the Great,'
229, 235 ; Bismarck's letter on this,
246; result of 'Shooting Niagara,'
233 ; remarks on Chelsea Hospital
and St. Paul's, 233 ; characterises
Disraeli, 234, 256, 266, 285 ; on
Spedding's 'Bacon,' 234; Disraeli
offers an honour and a pension,
236. On Sydney Smith and Thomas
Campbell, 236, 237 ; debate with
Gladstone, 236 ; on Charles Darwin,
239, 274; on translation, 239, 258 ;
on historians, 241 ; his opinion of the
Slavs, 241 ; horror of materialism,
245, 270 ; on Marlowe and Ben
Jonson, 252 ; etymology of word
'ten,' 255; Mr. Fred. Martin's bio-
graphy of him, 256 ; early memories,

INDEX

397

253, 256, 257 5 remarks on Brown-
ing's 'Agamemnon,' 257, 258,260;
ill-health, 259, 262, 275, 285 ; pro-
phesies general democracy, 261 j on
Catholic Emancipation, 261 ; on
Ruslcin, 263 ; visits Browning, 263,
264 j his thoughts upon another life,
269 ; weary of life, 271, 305 ; visits
to St. Paul's, 272, 273 ; remarks on
Kant and Swedenborg, 273 ; visit
to the Temple Church, 276. At
Moffat with Mr. and Mrs. Alexander
Carly 16,278-284; his talk about Burns,
282, 283 ; Ecclefechan, 280, 281. His
eighty-fourth birthday, 284 ; reads
Burns and Campbell, 305 ; recollec-
tions of death of Nelson, 305 ; eighty-
fifth birthday, 306 ; last illness and
death, 308, 309. Browning's reminis-
cences of Carlyle, 310, 311 ; Tenny-
son's recollections, 331

Carlyle, mention of portraits of, by
Maclise, 203 ; Whistler, 226 ; Millais,
255 ; Linnell, 267 ; Mrs. Allingham,
in water-colour, 240, 267, 271

Carlyle, ' Tom,' Uncle to Thomas, 267

Cary, Rev. H. F. (died 1844), translator
of Dante, 227

Cassell, Walter, 193

Catholic Emancipation, 261

Cavendish, Lord Frederick, murder of,
in the Phcenix Park, 316

Chantarelles gathered near Witley, 377,

379
Charmouth, 157
Chiddingfold bells at New Year, 315,

350
Christchurch, 92, 192 ; Shelley's monu-
ment, 92, 107
Clark, Rev. W. G., of Cambridge, 169
Clayton, John R., 386
Clifford, W. Kingdon, Professor, and

Mrs., 212, 256, 376, 377
Clough, Arthur, 57, 68, 72, 350
Clough, Mrs. Arthur, 86, 87, 89, 98,

102, 107, 166
Clough's letters and lectures, 107, 109,

129 ; Allingham on his poetry, 143
Clover, Joseph T., F.R.C.S., attended

Emperor Louis Napoleon, 259, 260
Cobbett, William, 41 ; his birthplace,

152
'Cock' Inn, 52, 147, 299
Cole, Sir Henry, 244
Coleraine, 69
Coleridge, S. T., his grave, 52, 295 ;

versification of ' Christabel,' 226, 227 ;

337
Coltman, Mrs., 86, 87

Colvin, Mr. and Mrs. Russell, and
children, at Witley, 348, 362

ConoUy, old family at Ballyshannon,
22

Conway, Moncure D., 159, 171, 307

Craik, George Lillie, and Mrs. (Dinah
Muloch), 322, 362 ; death of Mrs.
Craik, 369

Crawford, Robert, engineer, his reminis-
cences of AUingham's school-days, 28

Cromwell, compared with Shakespeare,
247 ; 272, 277_

Crookes, Sir William, F.R.S., paper, 292

Cruelty, thoughtless, 251

Cruikshank, George, subscription for,

137 .
Cummins, Father John, of Ballyshannon,

21
Curry, Mrs., of Freshwater, 167, 175,

177

Daffarn, Mr. and Mrs., 367

Darwin, Charles, 184, 185, 191, 239,

274 ; death of, 316
Darwin, Erasmus, brother to Charles,

184, 256, 263
De Morgan, Professor Augustus, 329 ;

Mrs. De Morgan, 352
De Morgan, Miss Mary, 316, 352
De Morgan, William, 321
Denmark, strolling players in old times,

275
Derby, Lord, on Education, 227 ; letter
to, about waysides near Hindhead,

319
De Vere, Aubrey, 140, 293-296
Dickens, Charles, 36, 58, 68, 71, 78
Dickinson, Lowes, 362
Dickson, Miss (" Dolores "), song writer,

124, 191, 200
Disraeli, Benjamin (Lord Beaconsfield),
80, 81, 182, 293, 319 ; remarks upon
him by Browning, 246, 250, 268,
Carlyle, 234, 256, 266, 336, and
Tennyson, 265 ; his first speech, 318
Dogmatism, evils of, 196, 197, 215
" Don," Tennyson's dog, 287, 290
Donegal, AUingham's life at, 32, 33,

39-42

Donegal Bay in AUingham's poem, 61

Dorchester, 156, 157

Dreams, impressions of, Allingham, 14,
137. 351-352. 382, 383; Carlyle's,
172; Browning's, 248; Tennyson's,

330

Drummond, Henry, at Albury, 266

Dryden, 150, 226, 301

Dublin, church and theatre, 43 ; scien-
tific bachelor's dinner-party, 47, 48 ;

398

INDEX

reception at Castle, 75 ; visit and friends
in, 1 14, 115
Du Maurier, George, 152, 195, 386, 387

Eastbourne, 239, 384 ; ' Sunrise at East-
bourne,' AUingham's last poem, 385

Edgeworth, Maria, anecdote of, 64 ; 342

Edinburgh, footpads and hanged men
seen by Carlyle, 219

Edwards, Miss M. Betham, 360, 361

'Eliot, George' {see Lewes), 222, 265,
284, 286, 306, 313, 314, 362

Ella, Professor John, founder of the/*
Musical Union, musical party at his
house, 194

Ellinghani parish, Hants, 145 ^

Elwin, Rev. W., his edition of Pope,
205

Emerson, R. W., 40, 41, 54, 98, 194,
206, 216, 217 J his writings, 220-224 j
with his daughter. Miss Emerson,
through London, 221,2225 on poetry;
242 ; in old age, 244 ; his death, 3165
his son Edward, 2 14, 2 1 6 ; his daughter
Mrs. Forbes, 372

Emigration to ' Ameriky,' 7, 16

Empire and the Colonies, Tennyson and
Carlyle on, 217

English peasants, silence of, 316

Enniskillen, 115, 1 16

Evans, Edmund, engraver and colour-
printer, and Mrs., 322, 347, 369

Farringford, Isle of Wight, 84, 87 ;
classic laurel bush growing there, 132

Fawcett, Henry, Mr. and Mrs., 321

Ferguson, Sir Samuel, LL.D., 34, 113,
114; his poems, 288; English in-
difference at his death, 348

Fielding, 213

Fields, Mr. and Mrs. James T., of
Boston (publisher), 198, 199

Fish diet, brain-feeding, 221

FitzGerald, Edward, 63, 64, 320, 321,

337' 341
Flemish, old painting on panel, 165
Flight, Dr. Walter, and his widow, 377
Flower, Mr. and Mrs. Wickham, 352
Forbes, Mr. and Mrs. (Emerson's

daughter), and children, 372
Forster, John, 2145 his ' Dickens,' 23 i ;

374
Foster, Birket, 312, 316, 341
Eraser'' s Magazine, 201, 306, 323
Freemasonry, 168
French Fleet at Spithead, August 1865,

121, and July 1867, 154
French Government and the Church of

Rome, 299

Freshwater, Isle of Wight, 84, 86
Friedmann, Paul, 266, 270, 273
Froude, J. Anthony, 165, 171, 179, 197,
202, 209, 235, 243, 245 j his Colonial
tour, 254 note ; editor of Eraser's
Magazine, 202 {see AUingham, W.) ;
his Life of Carlyle, 341
Furniss, Harry, Mr. and Mrs., 342, 347

Galway, Lady, 360

Garibaldi, at Mr. Seeley's house, 99, 168

Germ, The, periodical, 91

Gibbon's 'Decline and Fall,' etc., 232,
256

Gilfillan, George, 34

Gillies, Miss Margaret, water - colour
painter, 370

Gilpin, William, Vicar of Boldre, Hants
writer, 162

Gladstone, Rt. Hon. W. E., 265, 318,
335, 336; quotes 'Laurence Bloom-
held,' 99 5 on Disraeli, 246 j Tenny-
son's anecdote of steam voyage with
him, 320 ; rebukes levity regarding
God, 340; on Ireland, 347, 354

God, belief in, William Morris and
AUingham upon, 316-318 ; Tennyson
upon, 329, 339 ; AUingham's Prayer,

318,383

Goethe, his house at Weimar, 78, 125 ;
119 ; on death, 228 j size of his head,
2325 his ' Spriiche,' 239, 243; on
the future life (poem), 269 ; his in-
fluence on Carlyle, 253, 283

Goldsmith, Oliver, his grave near the
Temple Church, London, 276, 277

Gordon, Charles G., General, 344, 345

Gore, 'Gussy,' his old house, 131

Graham, Paul, 131

Greek play at Cambridge, CEdipus, 367

Greenaway, Miss Kate, 322, 352, 353

Haddon, Elizabeth (Mrs. Cave), the
children's nurse, 309, 315, 347 ; her
marriage, 366 ; 369

Haenel, Julius, sculptor, 103

Halle, Sir Charles, 103, 180

Hampshire dialect, 129

Hampstead Heath, evening effect, 54

Handwriting, 216

Hannay, James, 75

Harrison, Frederic, on Immortality,

2i5i 353
Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 70, 71
Heligoland desires to join Germany, 266
Hennessy, W. J., painter, 352, 376
Herford, William H., and niece Evelyn

Herford, 386
Highgate and its sights, 52

INDEX

399

Hindhead, 367, 376, 380 ; Lord Derby's

property near, 319
Hinton, James, 'Life in Nature,' 183,

186, 187
Hodgson, Mr. and Mrs. Stewart, 321,

330, 371, 375. 380
HoU, Frank, R.A., and Mrs., 359
Holland, Sir Henry (Lord Knutsford),

and Lady, 321, 366, 372
Holies, Denzil, old house of, 297
Holmes, O. Wendell, 217
Home the spiritualist, and Browning,

101, 102
Hooker, Sir Joseph D., 184, 376
Houghton, Lord {see Milnes, Monckton),

103, 125, 205, 312, 313, 315, 323,

342, 360
Howell, Charles Augustus, 137, 153,

164
Howitt, Mr. and Mrs. William, at High-
gate, 59, 68, 104 J at Esher, 186 ; on

spiritualism, 329
Hughes, Arthur, 74, 75, 171, 307
Hunt, Holman, 59, 75, 143, 352
Hunt, Leigh, 34-38 ; description of him,

38? 55 j portrait by Sam. Laurence,

106 ; 172, 204, 226, 310, 381
. Hunt, Thornton, death of, 226
/^ Hunter, Sir Robert (Solicitor to the

Post-Office) and Lady, 321, 322, 330
Hutchinson, Jonathan, M.D., LL.D.,

at Hindhead, his debt to Carlyle,

369
Huth, Mr. Henry, 178
Huxley, Leonard (son of T. H. Huxley),

367
Huxley, Prof. Thomas H., 221, 224,
270, 3535 Mrs. Huxley, 265

Ingelow, Miss Jean, 178

Ireland, Petrie's ' Round Towers,' 209 ;
Tennyson's remarks on Ireland and
Irishmen, 167, 199, 293, 297, 325,
346 ; Irish brogue, 343, 344 ; Irish
brogue in Tennyson's poems, 324,
336 ; neglect of Irish writers in
England, 348 ; Irish play, Arrah-na-
Pogue, in London, 1 1 3

Irving, Edward, 255, 266, 272

Irving, Sir Henry, 304, 349, 351

James, Henry, novelist, 378

Janet, Paul, reaii by Tennyson, 136,

368
Jefferies, Richard, wrote in Eraser, 370
Jekyll, Miss Gertrude, 347, 381
Jewsbury, Miss Geraldine, novelist, 137,

Job, book of, English translation, 258

Johnson, Dr., Carlyle praises the Diction-
ary, 261 ; 300

Jonson, Ben, his father an Annandale
man, 252

Jowett, Professor, at Freshwater, 97, 98 j
his ' Plato,' 243

Kant, 203, 204 J in Germany, 273
Keats, John, Carlyle on him, 205, 310 j

greatly admired by Tennyson, 295,

296 ; AUingham's poem on him, 384
Keene, Charles, 321, 341
Kemble, Fanny, 302
Killarney and Tennyson's 'Bugle

Song,' 301
Killybegs, 39

King, Lady Annabella, 103
King (publisher), Mr. and Mrs., at

Farringford, 1 1 7
Kingsley, Charles, 74, 86
Kirk wood, a crippled pensioner, 191
Knowles, Sir James, 215, 372
Knutsford, Lord and Lady {see Holland),

321, 366, 372

Laing, David, Librarian to the Signet,

Laplace on English politics, 292
Latin, pronunciation of, discussed, 95
Laurence, Samuel, painter, 106, 178,

235
Lear, Edward (author of ' The Book of

Nonsense'), 132, 291
Lecky, Rt. Hon. W. E. H., AUingham's

impression of him, 177, 178, 19--8 ;

with Carlyle, 241, 246, 261, 262,

277, 285, 286 ; Mrs. Lecky, 263,

264, 269, 284, 323
Leech, John, his daughter, 177
Leighton, Sir Baldwyn, 180, 214, 217,

220, 244
Leighton, Frederick (Lord), P.R.A.,

fresco in Lyndhurst church, 161, 180
Letters of alphabet, guess at their origin,

255
Lewes, Mr. and Mrs. G. H. (' George

Eliot'), 222, 265 ; Mrs. Lewes, 284,

286, 313, 3145 her death, 306; 362
Lightning and storm, effects of, on

cottage, 155
Lind, Jenny, 34, 35, 37, 43 ; her death,

370
Linnell, John, at eighty-six, 265 ; 267
Locker, Frederick (Locker-Lampson),

265 ; Mrs. F. Locker, 323
Longfellow, H. W., 1S3
Longmans, Messrs., 199, 202, 220, 245 ;

Miss Longman, 366 ; Mrs. Thos.

Longman, 381

400

INDEX

Lords, House of, worthless, 333
Lowell, Jas. Russell, 194} Miss Mabel

Lowell, 198, 199
Lushington, Mr. and Mrs. Edmund, 323
Lyme Regis, its associations and beauties,

157. 158; 342
Lymington and its neighbourhood, 82-

85, 112, 174; Fair, 83, 90; beauty

of its chimneys, 124
Lyndhurst and New Forest, 133;

Allingham visits the Tennysons there,

133-137; Lord Leighton's fresco in

the church, 161

Macaulay, Lord, 177, 241, 286, 289
McCracken, Mr., of Belfast, 75
MacGauley, Professor, in Dublin, 47
M'Gettigan, Daniel, R.C. Archbishop of

Armagh, 115, 370
Maclise, drawing of Carlyle by, 203
Macmillan, Mr. and Mrs. Alexander, at

Balham, 103, 105 ; 106, 330
MacMunn family of Cranny, Donegal,

41, 42
Macpherson's Ossian, 205
Magee, Bishop, of Peterborough, 187
Mahony, F. S., "Father Prout," 77, 78
Man, Isle of, Douglas and Ramsey, 49-

51, 56 ; the Tynwald, 49, 50
Mangles, Mrs. and Miss, 322, 367, 371
Manning, 215
Marlborough, Duke of. Lord Wolseley's

opinion of him, 355
Marshall, James, of Weimar, 79, 125
Martin, Sir Theodore and Lady (Helen

Faucit), 306
Martineau, Basil, Mr. and Mrs. (Clara)

at Eldon Road, Hampstead, 347, 352,

353. 369. 381

Martineau, Dr. James, goes to see Car-^
lyle, 244, 245 ; his appearance anif
conversation at eighty -two, 353 ;
Tyndall's word about him, 377

Matter and its properties, 333, 335

Mazzini, death of, Carlyle's remarks,
208

Melbourne, Lord, and Catholic Emanci-
pation, 261

Mendelssohn's death, 41

Meredith, George, 61

Metaphysical Society, 215, 353; Hux-
ley's paper ' Has a Frog a Soul? ' 292

Meteyard, Miss, 59

Midleton, Lady, 366

Mildmay, Captain, 86, no

Millais* picture ' The North Pole,'
232 ; 255 ; his 'Ophelia,' 379

Milnes, Monckton, Lord Houghton,
103, 125, 205 i recalls Carlyle and

his letter to his wife about Fryston,
3i2i3i3>.3i5. 323. 342; AUingham's
lines on him, 360

Milton's tomb and Emerson, 221 ; 223,
294

Mitford, A. B., author of ' Tales of Old
Japan,' 259

Moffat, N.B., Allingham and Carlyle at,
279-284

Moon, apparent size of, to different eyes,
376

Moore, Albert, 352

Moore, Tom, 203, 206, 210

Moorey, Mrs., of Sandhills, Witley, 348

Morganatic marriages, 271

Morris, Sir Lewis, 323

Morris, William, 75, 80 ; at Plum-
stead, 106; at Burne-Jones's, 137,
139, 202; at Lymington, 140-143;
at Queen Square, 153, 154, 165, 181 ;
talk with, on religion, 316 ; his demo-
cratic Socialism, 326, 339

Mount Temple, Lord, 318

Miiller, Max, 128, 222

Murphy, from Ballyshannon, 115

Myers, F. W. H., 329

Napoleon I., Carlyle's remarks on him,

227, 228
Napoleon, Louis, Mr. Clover's remarks

and Richard Owen's dictum upon

him, 259, 260 ; Carlyle's description,

261
Nature and religion, 215
Nelson's death, 305
Nevill, Lady Dorothy, 375
Nevill, Mr. and Mrs., of Bramhall, 364
New Forest, 85, 90, 91, 188
Newman, John Henry, 1 1 1
' Nice,' use of the word, 297
N'tebelungen Lied, 231
Nightingale, Mr. and Mrs., at Embley

Park, 98, 99
Norton, Charles Eliot, of Harvard, 224

O'Connell, Daniel, 231
Orrinsmith, Mr. Harvey, 386
Osborne House, Isle of Wight, 193
" Ouida " [see Raniee), 193, 194
Ouless, Walter, R.A., and family, 332
Owen, Sir Richard, his ghost-story, 188 ;
260

Paget, Miss Violet, 359

Palgrave, F. T., 93, 94, 158, 159, 178,

381
Palmerston, Lord, 100, 113 ; death of,
124, 126; Allingham in his library,
318

INDEX

401

Parkes, Miss Bessie (Madame Belloc),

102
Parr, Miss (" Holme Lee "), novelist,

178
Parry, Clinton, and family, at Freshwater,

167
Paterson, Mrs. Alexander, at St. Albans

(' Grannie '), and her daughter Miss

Louisa Paterson, 369
Paterson, Mrs. Henry (Mother to Mrs.

AUingham), her son Arthur and

daughter Carrie, 322, 347, 362, 375
Patmore, Coventry, in Camden Town,
/ 53"55' ^°' 62, 70, 75 ; becomes

Roman Catholic, 103 ; marriage, 103,

128
Patmore, Gurney, in Derby, 70
Peel, Sir Robert, 261
Petrie, George, LL.D., musician and

antiquary, 114, 130, 138
Philip, Mr. George, publisher, 319
Phipson, Mrs., 369
Planche, Jas. Robinson, 193
Poetry and artistic form, 54 ; discussion

on writing, 55 ; the poet and human

limitations, 149 ; talks on, with Car-

lyle, 210, 211 j with Tennyson, 294-

296, 300, 326, 327
Pollock, Sir Frederick, 87, 376
Pope, Elwin's edition, 205 ; 289
Poynter, Sir Edward J., P.R.A., 195,

321 ,>•

Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood (see W«r6l-

ner), 91, 100, 362 ; work of Burne-

Jones and W. Morris a ' new

Renaissance,' 141
Prestbury, Cheshire, old house there,

363
Princess of Wales [Alexandra] and

Empress of Russia, 320
Prinsep, Val, R.A., 101, 103, 170
Procter (Barry Cornwall), wife and

daughter, 178
Procter, Mrs. and Miss Edith, 265, 310,

323, 368
' Propetty, Propetty, Propetty,' original

of Tennyson's poem, 312

Quain, Dr. Richard, 370

Quaritch, Bernard, senior, bookseller, 349

Quarles and Browning, 249

Queen Victoria and Tennyson, 118, 150 j
visits French Fleet at Spithead, 154;
309, 338, 345 ; her Jubilee Procession,
3^9, 360 J Fleet at Portsmouth, 361

Rabelais, 304, 345

Ramee, Louise de la (' Ouida '), 193,
194

Ramsden, Mr. and Mrs., at Busbridgc,
347, 360, 381

Rehan, Miss, acts in Taming of the
Shrt-w, 373, 375, 376

Reid, Buchanan, 58

Religious service, 43

Religious speculation, 128, 149, 317,
318

Rice, Mr., death of an old man,. 123

Ritchie family, 189, 193, 265 ; Miss
Ritchie at Tennyson's, 335, 337, 377

Robertson, Mrs. Graham, 381

Rogers, Samuel, 39, 302, 336

Romsey, Hants, 98

Rossetti family, 72 ; William M.
Rossetti, 139; their mother, 165

Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, 59, 72, 74, 75,
86, 137, 202; designs cover for
Allingham's ' Day and Night Songs,'
74 ; two of his pictures, 75 ; 'Venus
Verticordia,' 100 ; his housekeeper
Fanny, 100 j other society, loi ;
detests music, 104 \ drawings by his
wife, 144 J visits Lymington, 159-
163 ; his singularities, 160, 161 ;
Allingham's view of his character
and opinions, 162-163 ; his visitors
and garden at Chelsea, 164; Blake's
drawings, 349

Ruskin, John, his lectures on Art and

^ Life, 153 ; meets Mrs. Aliingham,
245, 275 ; laments his upbringing,
245 ; Carlyle's admiration for him,
263 ; visits Carlvle, 275 ; on Byron's
poetry, 300 ; on versification, 326 ;
his poems, 327

Russell, Countess, and daughter, 366

Russell, George, M.P., 318

Russell, Odo, Minister at Rome, 310

Russell, Hon. Rollo, 363

Russia, feeling as to, by Tennyson,
Spedding, and Carlyle, 265 ; anecdote
of brutal Russian noble, 297 ;
Empress and Czar of, 320

St. Barbe, 'Sam,' 86

Sainton-Dolby, Madame, 178

Sandwich Islands, Queen Emma of, 118,
124

Sartoris, Miss May, 177, 180

Sayers, Tom, pugilist, 85, 86

Schiller, self-called relation of the poet,
at Ramsey, 51 ; discussion about him
and Goethe at Tennyson's, 64 ; Car-
lyle's translation of biographical article
on, 211, 216

Scott, W. B., 100

Sellwood, Mr. Henry, Father to Emily,
Lady Tennyson, 96, no, 117

2 D

402

INDEX

Seymour, Mr., of Bertolini's, 179, 180,
198, 299

Shakespeare, Tennyson first reads him,
89 J Carlyle's first acquaintance with
him, and afterwards through Kean and
Macready, 247; 206, 210, 214, 252,
275, 286, 300, 381

Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 29, 65 ; his sisters
and the family at Boscombe, 107, 109 j
191 ; his daughter lanthe, igi, 192 j
several opinions of his poetry, 242,
295, 296

Shelley, Sir Percy (Shelley's son), 107,
170, 191, 192, 307

Shere, Mr. Bray's cottage at, 265

Siamese twins, 197

Siberia, wild flowers in, 200

Simeon, Sir John, 88, 182; Lady Simeon,
198

Simon, Sir John, P.R.C.S., 153, 165,

Skinner, Alan, Q.C., and family, 160,

162, 179
Smith, Sydney, 236
Smollett, Carlyle on, 212
Sothern the actor, 10 1
Sound interpreted by colour (Carlyle),

286
Southampton, 96 ; Exhibition there,

143, 188
Sowley copse destroyed by Lord Henry

Scott, 170, 176
Spedding, James, his ' Bacon,' 234 ; 245,

265, 376
Speedy, Captain, 184, 185
Spencer, Herbert, 224, 284
Spiritualism, 329, 330, 333, 352
Spurgeon at Lymington, 84, 88
Stanhope, Lord, 80, 277
Stanley, A. P., Dean, his funeral sermon

on Lord Palmerston, 1265 274
Stebbing, Mr. and Mrs., 259
Stephen, Sir James Fitzjames, 175, 215
Stephen, Leslie, 171, 177, 194, 2285

death of his wife, 241
Stephen, Mrs. Leslie, 177, 193
Stephens, Mr. and Mrs. F. G., 75, 306,

386, 388
Sterling, John, influence of his review on

Tennyson, 150, 314
Stokes, Whitley, D.C.L., C.S.L, 75,

372
Story, W. W., American sculptor, 104,

228
Strauss's Life of Jesus, 211
Sullivan, Sir Arthur, 102 ; origin of

name, 105, 106 ; 146 ; the Mikado

criticised, 346
Sutton, Henry, 44, 53

Swanage, 122

Swanwick, Miss Anna, and Browning,
380

Swedenborg, 183 ; talk about with Car-
lyle, 205, 273, 274; with A. R.
Wallace, 330

Swift, 234

Swinburne, A. C, 139, 143, 145, 151,
254

Taglia-Carne, La Marchesa, 190
Tait, Robert, Scotch artist, 226
Taylor, Bayard, 332

Taylor, G. Warrington, manager for
Burne -Jones and W. Morris, 164,
165
Taylor, Sir Henry, 87, 93, 127, 163 ;
Allingham's opinion of his poetry,
183
Taylor, Peter, 171

Taylor, Tom, and Mrs., 75 ; at Lavender
Sweep, 103, 104, 146, 151, 153, 193,
202 5 his comedy Lo-ve or Money, 171 j
Mr. Taylor's death, 304 j Mrs. Taylor
and son, 348
Telfer, Mrs., her youth in Siberia, 200
Tennant, Mr. Charles, and family, 201
Tennent, Emerson, story of, 234
Tennyson, Alfred (Lord), Allingham
reads his poems at Belfast, 3 1 ;
manuscript of 'In Memoriam,' 55;
at Twickenham, 60-65 ; described at
age of forty-one, 60 ; at Farringford,
87-89, 93-95 ; boys and Shakespeare,
89; classic metres, 93-9S; reads
aloud or repeats own poems, 95, 117-
119, 146, 158, 301, 302, 304, 328 J
excursion to Beaulieu, too j his visit
to the Queen, 118, 150; varieties,
and a drunken man's promise, 119;
visit to Weimar, 125 5 regard for
Browning, 128 ; his fondness for
brooks, 130, 131; on Byron, 132;
at Lyndhurst, 133-137; his songs,
' The Loves of the Wrens,' 146 ; Jane
Austen's novels, 156, 158; feelings
on immortality and the destiny of
man, 148, 149, 151, 185, 329;
Arthurian epic and ' Morte d' Arthur,'

150, 314, 315 J delightful converse,

151, 159 ; on marriage, 158 j jottings
on religion, 163, 215 ; the Queen's
autograph gift to him, 166 ; on Irish
landscape, 167 ; on Greek and Latin
poetry, 168 ; at Cambridge, 175 ; his
Lincolnshire stories, 176 ; on Long-
fellow, Swedenborg, and Hinton, 183 ;
'The San Grail,' 187; Carlyle on,
205 ; remarks on Ireland, 199, 293,

INDEX

403

297 ; on politics, 288, 333, 346 j dis-
trust of Russia, 265 ; his play Becket
aad Henry Irving, 287; remarks on
satire, 289 ; discussion on Brown-
ing's poetry, 290, 291, 326 ; music
and its meaning, 292 ; Wordsworth,
Coleridge, Shelley, and Keats dis-
cussed, 293-2965 on the Sonnet,
302 ; ' Propetty, propetty,' Farmer
Thimbleby, 'Northern Farmer,' 312.
He will not be sketched, 315; criticises
poems of his own, 319, 320, 334, 344;
steam voyage with Mr. Gladstone and
Royalties, 320 ; ' Molly Magee ' and
Irish brogue, 324, 343 j votes for the
Franchise, 325 j discussion on poetry,
327, 350 J eternal punishment an
obsolete belief, 3 28 ; his belief in
God, 329, 339 J his gift of word-
painting, 331 ; soap-bubbles, 331 ;
method of composition, 334; his
friendship for Gladstone, 336 ; story
of a Catholic picture, 337 ; his pride
in the Empire, 325, 338 ; recollections
of youth, old Tories and Whigs, 340 ;
Lincolnshire farmers, 346, 377, 378 5
ghost-story of his grandfather, 349 ;
stories of dog and lark, 350 ; his
anecdotes of Gladstone and Ireland,
354 J illness, gout (age 80), 381;
the effect of corrupt Latin books on
boys, 381, 382

Tennyson, Emily (Lady), 61, 65, 87, 93,
95. 133. 135. 340; her Alma Song,
107 5 297, 331

Tennyson, Arthur (Brother to Lord T.),
and wife, 365, 366

Tennyson, Charles (Tennyson Turner),
Brother to Lord T. {see Turner), 121,
1 54-, 182 ; Sonnets by, 302

Tennyson, Frederick (eldest Brother to
Lord T.), 63, 65, 156, 290

Tennyson, Hallam (Lord Tennyson),
93' 133-135. I54> 169, 298, 304, 332,
345. 350. 365 ; ^i.'s wedding, 323

Tennyson, Hon. Lionel, 93, 133-135,
154, 185, 186, 289, 323 ; his wedding,
263 ; his children, 290

Tennyson, Miss Matilda (sister to Lord
T.), 323. 335, 338, 339

Tennyson family, 63, 93, 154

Terry, Miss Ellen, 120, 287, 304

Terry, Miss Kate (Mrs. A. Lewis), 103,

147
Thackeray, W. M., in Paris, 76-78 5

his opinion of Browning, 76 ; letter

to Tennyson, 136, 208
Thackeray, Miss (Mrs. Richmond

Ritchie), 112, 171, 175, 177, 178,

186, 189, 193, 265 ; two Miss
Thackerays, n 2

Tomlinsons' (near Lymington) garden
party, 200

Tories and Whigs of old days, 340

Tourgueneff, 203, 204

Townsend, Mr. and Mrs. Meredith (co-
editor of the Spectator), 259

Tredennicks of Camlin, 22

Trevelyan, Sir George, 246

Trollope, Anthony, 106, 180, 342

Tropical nature, 334

Turkey, war with, averted by a letter
from Thomas Carlyle, 256, 263

Turner, Charles Tennyson, 121, 154.
1825 Sonnets by, 302

Turner, Mrs., of Poynton, near Man-
chester, 363

Tweed, source of, 279

Tynan, Katharine (Mrs. Hinkson), 380

Tyndall, Prof. John. 221, 224, 245. 268,
285, 319, 340. 376, 377

Vambery, A., Hungarian traveller, 103
Venturi, Madame, 255, 260
Vere, Aubrey de, poet, 140, 186
Visualising power, 330

Walker, Frederick, R.A.. 188, 189
Wallace, Alfred Russel, his Surrey
garden and his conversation, 329, 330,

332-335. 339. 352, 373
War in India, how to escape, 5 50
Ward, E. M., R.A., 104
Ward, Humphry, 361
Ward, Mrs. Humphry, 378 ; her

'summer-retreat' described, 363
Waterford, Mayor of, in 1884, 321
Waterloo, Tom Patten's account of the

battle, 214
Watts, G. F., R.A., 112, 153
Watts, Theodore, 310
Waugh, Edwin, 149
Webb, Philip, architect, 10+, 141, 164,

372
Weld, Mr. and Mrs. (sister ot Lady

Tennyson), at Aubrey House, Hants,

96, 106, 110, 112, II-, 12!
Wellington, Duke of, 272, 277 ; and

farmer at Walmer, 211
Whisky, Irish name, 'calamity water,'

84
Whistler, J. M., loi j portrait ot Car-
lyle, 226
Wight, Isle of, Solent dialect, 1 29
Wilberforce, Bishop of Oxford, 103-

105, 140. 328
Wilde, Sir William. 1 1 5
Wilkinson, J. Garth, work by, 373

404

INDEX

Wiseman, Cardinal, lectures at Lyming-

ton, 88
Witley, Surrey, 311-315, 322, 347, 350,

354-358, 360-362, 364, 366-370;

old semaphore station at Banacle

Hill, near, 354
Wollstonecraft, Mary, 191
Wolseley, Viscount, description and

conversation, 354-359, 361 ; in the

Queen's Jubilee procession, 360 ; at

Tennyson's, 364 ; Lady Wolseley,

371
Woolner, Thomas, R.A., his ' Puck,'
53 j 5^' 68, 79 ; poem ' My Beautiful
Lady,' 91 ; visitors at his house.

102 ; walks with Allingham to
Brockenhurst, 112; visits Tennyson,
128, 129, 132, 169 ; words on
Browning, 132; Mrs. Woolner, 375

Wordsworth, William, his death, 58 ; 61,
162 ; Tennyson and De Vere on his
poetry, 293-295

Wordsworth Society, 303

Yachts and yachting, no nursery for the

Navy, 120
Yarmouth, Isle of Wight, maids there,

176
Yew trees, a famous wood near Lynd-

hurst cut down, 136

THE END

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